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Behold! he sees what no human eye has glimpsed 
since the beginning of time 



He might have stepped from the frame of a Rem' 
brandt painting, this bewigged figure of a man so 
patiently making lenses and squinting through them. 

Night after night, like a child with a new toy, 
Antony van Leeuwenhoek, seventeenth century Dutch 
shopkeeper, hurried home to place anything and every/ 
thing under his microscope: the brain of a fly, rain 
water, a hair, pepper, a cow's eye, scrapings from 
is teeth. 

Then one day, behold! he sees what no human 
eye his glimpsed since the beginning of time. Fantastic 
"little inimals", thousands of them to a pin-point, 
dart and squirm as he gazes. 

Not for an instant did he suspect any of them as 
foes of mankind, as possible destroyers of health and 
life. But the enemy had at last been sighted. Man 
had taken his first faltering step in the war on germs. 

Nearly two hundred years were to pass before the 
second step, a giant stride, was taken by Pasteur. He 
devjted his life to seeking out the microbes which he 
belkved to be the cause of disease. In turn, his work 
inspied Lister to use carbolic acid in combating the 


almost inevitable gangrene which then followed surgery. 

Soon Lister's fame as "the father of antiseptic sur' 
gery" spread across the Atlantic. No wonder that when 
a new, non^caustic, noivpoisonous antiseptic and 
germicide was discovered in St. Louis, its sponsors 
named it Listerine, in his honor. 

Today the shining bottle and amber color of Listerine 
Antiseptic are as familiar to millions of people as the 
face of a long trusted friend. In more than sixty years 
of service in the fight on infection, it has day after 
day proved deadly to germs but harmless to tissue 
. . . well meriting its almost universal citation as "the 
safe antiseptic and germicide." 

Lambert Pharmacal Co., St. Louis, Mo. 


LISTERINE 
ANTISEPTI C 

in service more than sixty years 



AMAZING STORIES 


3 



Make This l»X*or4 fVOW 


Modern business Wants isrvEwnoBfs 

Practical and novel inventions are in hie demand today. The 
opportunity for tjuick money is enticing, tjale^ sourees are 
many if your invontion has merit. But, ho sure — before yon 
pla,-.e yoiir device in Grange hands— that it is fully pKitected. 
A United States Patent gives you this protection. 
The firxt step toward inventive success— always is — and always 
hatbeen, th>< n.ppt^-nli'in for a. U. S. Paten'.. There w no other nxiy to 
protect ynvr invention in accnriian.ee with the laws of this country. 

If you have an in- 
vention, and wish 

to secure it for the future, act at once. Have it dated now and 
recorded in our office. We will send you this FREE Invention 
Record Form for the purpose. Fill out the Invention Record 
Form, fully describing the nature of your invention. Make a 
sketch of its main features. Mail it to us and we wiil record 
the date it was received in our office. The earlier the date the 
better your chance of combating rival inventors who may lay 
claim to your idea later. 

Don't delay a ainale minute in takina this important step. Your 
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Patent Attorneys rorommcndfl , inleaB th e in- 
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services of a Registered Patent Attorney in the preparation of 
his Patent Application. We arc Regis Wed Patent. Attorneys, 
fully qualified to represent you at the Patent Office. We, have 
had long experience in studying hundreds of types of inven- 
tions. This gives us the ability to judge your invention and to 
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MvMOIIROW & BEIIMAX 
Patent Attorneys 

186-C ALBEE BUILDING 
WASHINGTON 5, D 


Inuention Record 


Know Haul Successful 
lnuentor5 Protect and 
Sell Their inventions 


.ok 


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How to know If thero is a. jwior U. S. Patent on your 

How to save stops in oet'fng patent action. 

How we prepare your application for presentation to 

thfi Patent Office. 
How you may patent an improvement on something 

In usb now. 

How to obtain fundB to patent and promote youi 
Invention. 

How to find a buyer or backer for your In- 
vontion. \ 
How to protect yourself In rrnikim 
royalty a 



CONTENTS 
PAGE 



MARCH 
1944 


STORIES 


BEQ. O.-fl. FAT, OFF. 


» STORIES « 

THE SUPERMAN— $2,000 CONTEST STORY.. by Opt. Meyer Friodenson . . . . f2 
IT'S A SMALL WORLD (Novelet) by Robert Bloch 16 

There were dreadful juggernauts of death and destruction beneath this gaily decorated Christmas tree! 

MAGNETIC MISS METEOR (Novelet) by Don Wil«x 50 

A colony of duped Earthmen fought weird meteors and the lovely woman who was able to control them. 

CROSSED WIRES (Novelet) by Leroy Yenca 80 

Bfindness is a blessing compared to the thing that happened to Walter Marsh's most vital senses . . . 

BATTLE BEFORE DAWN (Short) by Pvt. Robert Moore Williams 104 

The whole of man s future civilizalion, even his existence, depended on this baltle in pre-history. 

THOMPSON'S TIME TRAVELING THEORY 
(SWjhort).. by Sgt. Mart Wei.inger 118 

Thompson had a theory about killing his grandfather before his own birth — so he went into the past 

JOURNEY IN TIME TO CLEOPATRA 

(Novelet) by Helmar Lewis 124 

Time and tide — and an Indianapolis racer — await no man; not even Marc Antony. But Cleopatra . . . ah! 

SPAWN OF JUPITER (Novelet) by Ed Earl Repp 150 

They risked their lives to enter this lost Jovian city— then learned it meant death to try to escape! 

COKIE GOES TREASURE HUNTING (Short)... by Berkeley Livingston 172 

Because a screwball scientis! marked an X on the Loop sidewalk, Cokie found himself facing dinosaurs! 


» FEATURES « 


The Observatory 6 

Japs Hunt Quinine Substitute 49 

An Untouched Source Of Rubber 49 

Home Made Submarines 79 

Vigneftei Of Famous Scientists 102 

Amazing Facts 116 


Amaring Oddities 148 

Meet The Auihots 184 

Philatelic "Treasure" 185 

Scientific Mysteries 186 

Discussions 189 

Ship Of Callisto 208 

Front cover painting by J. Allen St. John illustrating a scene from "It's A Small World" 
Back cover painting by James B. Settles depicting the "Ship Of Callisto" 
Illustrations by J. Allen St. John; Virgi! Finlay; Hodden, Malcolm Smith, Magarian; Robert Fuqua 


mamoa or ine auoii cor •an 01 i . 

William B. ZUf, Publisher, 8. G. Dayli.Ediior, Raymond A. Palmer, Managing Edilci 
Howard Browne, Anlttont Editor; Harmon ft. Bollln, Art Director, H. G. Strong, Circulation Directs* 

We do no. accept responsibility for the return of unsolicited manuscripts or artwork. To -e,cllltale handling, the 
author should enclose a self -addressed envelop* with the requisite pestaoe attached, and artist should enclose 
or lorwcrd return postace. Accepted nieteriol is subject te whatever revision is necessary to meet requirements. 
Payment covers all authors contributors', and contestants' rights, title and interest In ond 1o the maferial accepted 
and will be made at our current rales upon acceptance. All pholos and drawings will be considered as pari 
of materia! purchased. 

The name; of al characters thai ore used in short Maries, tenals and semi-fiction articles thol deal 
wilh type- are fictitious Use of a name which is the some a; that of any living person It coincidental. 

AM\Z<\[J I'uMWuv M-inomliLy by ZIFF-DAVIS PUBLISHING 1 COMPANY M 5*1) Worth Michigan Avenue, CM- 
■ >■■;■.;.,. ■ 1 1 !■ N-.'* 'KThOihv'. JT'.i Mn..!i,r,ii Ave., New Yurfc. us. N. V. W !ls 'i trip ion Otfloe, Earte Bill WIjik Volt 

MAf.Lii VtaviiiiXj-l'i:,, ■], l).C. Sr^-flnl V^i.-.ijii-a ;ii -ry,rv~rhtr,Ov.i_ (.:,.,! iiarr.it! im;t i-,". i.ir.-.n-Mai H.,n-1 Nun 

1914 LaaiioH eclitotiai representative, A. Spenser Ailberi'i, Chandus Cmtn^a, Court Road, tokeolwoi V\- 
bri.lefi. Midfis., England. Entered as Heegnd class mutter November 9, 1943. at the Post Office. Ctil- 
oajw. lllin-iis, iw.<]er n, r . nci. of M.irra 3rd, 1879. Subscription »2.50 a year (12 Issues) ; Cunt's .$.1.00: 
K.iv.uii s:., .,!), -.in,.., should allnw at least two weeks Ut nhnnge r.f ^ridrcss. All wrumuiilcatlons 

' "o the Director of Clroiijatii*n ( Zlg-Davia t'ubllsbinic Company. 
■J 


AM A 


STORIES 


NOW Is the Time to 
PATENT and SELL Your Invention 

Now, more than ever before, ia the right time to patent your inven- 
tion. Why? Because manufacturers everywhere presently engaged 
in war production are looking ahead to the future by buying op 
patent rights now, so they will have new and attractive items to make 
and sell lor civilian consumption as Boon as the wax is over. This ia' 
what happened during and after the last wur. Hence, the smart thing 
for you to do is to look ahead to the future too. Protect your inven- 
tion by applying for a patent now, so you will be in position to cub 
in on an outright sale, or on the royalties your invention will bring. 

Patent Guide Shows What To Do 

Our "Patent Guide for the Inventor" answers many important 
Questions concerning Patents that inventors constantly ask. It tells 
what facts, details, drawings, sketches, etc. are necessary to apply 
for a Patent : bow to protect your invention through dated and wit- 
nessed disclosure; how to do this AJ ONCE to safeguard your 
rights; how Patent Office Records can be checked to determine 
whether the invention is probably patentable before filing fees need 
be paid; discusses costs involved and a practical way these can be 
paid as the application progresses. It tells how some Inventors se- 
cured financial backing ; how many simple inventions have proved 
large commercial successes; how Patents covering improvements 
also can be profitably utilised and marketed; tells countless other 
facts of interest. 

Why You Need Expert Assistance , 

The Patent Laws were enacted for your benefit— to give you protec- 
tion for the feajures of your invention which are Patentable. But 
these features must be legally and concisely set forth in the form of 
"claims." This phase oF the procedure is so complex that the Patent 
Office advises the Inventor to engage a competent Registered Patent 
Attorney. We maintain a large staff — carefully trained registered 
patent attorneys — expert draftsmen — experienced searchers — to 
serve you. We have been serving inventors for mora thao 20 years. 


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This step costs you nothing yet may be 
■ps. Remember— in Patent Matters. AC- 


CLARENCE A. O'BRIEN & HARVEY B. IAC9BS0N 

''Worthy of your Trvst" 

R^u'.mi PjIihI Attorney! 
4444 >. Adams Building 


Washington, 0. C 


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IMMEDIATELY MAIL COUPON TODAY! 


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& HARVEY B. JACOBS ON 


| C1ARENCE A. O'BRIEN & HARVEY B. JACOB SON ] 

I fi Pitenl Attempt before the United SU\es Patent ONIte 

■ 444-0 Adams Building, Washington, A D, C. 

! Please send me your 48-Page "Patent Guide for the 

1 Inventor" z»:d your specially prepared "Record of 

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I Name 


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' — (I'iease write or print plainly.) — ™— — . 


t 



B|EJ|YATOIT 


ON page 12 of this issue you will find the 
results of our amazingly popular Hitler 
Illustration Contest conHucted in the No- 
vember, 19+3 issue. And on page 14, you will 
find the winning st&ey. We are proud to an- 
nounce the name of the winner, Cantain Meyer 
Foedenson, of the Medical Corps Cf the United 
States Army. For writing the best sliort-sbort 
story of approximately 1000 words, Captain Fried- 
enson has won the deubk award of a $2000 war 
bond. Our congratulations to him — he had stag- 
gering competition 1 

YOUR editors were a little bit dazed when faced 
with the prospect of reading so many stories, 
but as we read on, our interest in the responses 
to our contest, and in the people who competed 
for the big prize, grew so intense that we lost 
all perspective of the job as a task, but rather, 
saw it as a privilege I 

TO our utter amazement more than half the 
contestants were women ! All of which tends 
to prove that science fiction and fantasy is a 
field of literature that finds a ready market in the 
female of the species for one very definite reason 
— the girls have vivid imaginations, and a very 
excellently developed fantasy "sense." 

WE received a great many entries from soldiers, 
sailors, marines, even the Seabees. Many of 
them came from officers. One came from a holder 
of the Purple Heart, out of the fighting now be- 
cause of wounds. Another came from a vet in 
a 1°18 war soldier's home. Some even came from 
children now acting as heads of families in the 
absence of a fighting daddy. 

AS we read, we became conscious of a fact 
that seems to us to be of prime importance 
in judging the war and the peace to foflow in 
relation to the opinion of the general public. We 
learned a great deal about what the American 
thinks of the war and the peace, and what must 
be done to bring the first to a conclusion and the 
latter to permanence. First of all, we found that 
Hitler is the most hated man in the world, if not 
in history; and we shudder to think of what his 


lot would be if tfiese story writers could be judges 
of his fate! A hundred different tortures were 
devised, a hundred different ways to make him 
suffer in some small measure for the pain and 
sorrow he has caused. 

AS for themes, there were five that predomi- 
nated. 1. Hitler kidnaped by the Martians. 
2. The devil coming to take Hitler to hell. 3. The 
laboratory monster created to be a secret weapon 
turning on its creator. 4. The god of war taking 
Hitler on a tour of time to view the failures ef 
past war-makers. 5. Hitler as a reincarnation of 
previous war-makers, such as Gbengis Khan, Na- 
poleon, Attila, etc. In spite of the terrific com- 
petition, many of the stories developed these 
themes amazingly in so far as orginaltty is con- 
cerned. 

XTEyE-R, in the more than eighteen years of 
*■ * Amazing Stories' existence has a contest 
proved so popular and been so well entered. 
Never has a contest developed the interest and 
spirit of competition that this one has. When 
we selected a "hitler" subject for our illustration, 
we hoped to make the contest a tough one. We 
did that, the readers said, but it didn't stop them. 
They wrote stories, and how! We must give 
our readers credit for ability — and for plenty of 
imagination, ingenuity, and construct! veness. 

ITOR those contestants who inquired, in spite 
" of the rules published with the contest illustra- 
tion, we are unable to enter into any correspon- 
dence regarding it; and also, no manuscripts will 
be returned. It may be that we will publish 
other stories from among these from time to time, 
and these will be paid for at our usual rates. 

LAST week Nelson S. Bond dropped in on us 
for a visit with the Coffee Club. He revealed 
that he was in town to do a radio program over 
a national hookup. He has written and sold 
several fantasy novels to the slicks. When he had 
finished his recital, we were rather proud of the 
man who made Lancelot Biggs, Horsesense Hank, 
and others beloved characters in our pages. We 
remember his many novels in our pages. They 
(Continued on page 8) 


AMAZING STORIES 



OF TODAY ARE PLANNING NOW FOR TOMORROW! 



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3 


AMAZING STORIES 



tSEJgrATOKT 



( Continued from page 6) 
are classics today. And one thing that cheers us 
is the fart (hat Bond prefers Writing fantasy above 
all else, and he swears that he will continue to 
write it. So hold your thumbs, readers, for an- 
other of those grand nevels! 

rjAVID WRIGHT O'BRIEN writes us the al- 
most incredible news that a B-29 waist gun- 
ner {that's him!) has time to write fiction! And 
better still, he's written some! Well, Dave, get 
the manuscript to us— we've run out of your staff! 

ALSO, we bought a st«ry from soldier Robert 
Moore Williams. It looks as though even 
in the press of warfare, our authors are still think- 
ing,, breathing, eating, sleeping fiction writing. 
Which means plenty to us ! 

BEFORE we forget it, we've got a few things to 
say about the stories in this issue— and maybe 
about the next. First, since this issue will appear 
very close to Christmas, it seems appropriate that 
it contains one of the he^st Christmas stories we 
have read in many a year. You'H understand 
why it's good when we tell you Robert Blech 
wrote it. "It's A Small World" fascinated us 
tremendously in manuscript form — -so much that 
we called in J. Alien St. Jehn and handed it to 
him with the simple instructions: "Do us a bang- 
up cover on this yarn— it's a topnotch story, and 
we want the best art we can get." Therefore, 
the cover. And we humbly believe it is the finest 
St. John has painted for us. It has exactly the 
fantasy atmosphere that Bloch so cleverly in- 
stilled into the story itself. Our thanks and con- 
gratulations to both of them. 

DELVING into our precious store, we came 
up with a Robert Moore Williams story called 
"Battle Before Dawn," attached to a Virgil Fin- 
lay illustration. It was thus recalled to .rein* that 
Williams wrote the story around the illustration, 
and we wast to chalk up another example of 
really fine collaboration between artist and author. 
You'll get the same queazey chills up and dawn 
your back that we got when we read the manu- 
script. 

T TP-and-coming Comet Yerxa sizzles in this is- 
^ sue with "Crossed Wires,'' one of the most 
fascinating science tales we've yet read. The idea 
in this one is terrific, and the punch it carries 
is held up right through to the final paragraph. It 
was a manuscript that tickled us tremendously 


"M A 


to get. New ideas are rare, and this one's a peach. 
Orchids to a fine contribution to science fiction 
for 19441 

OF course you all remember Sgt. Mort Weisin- 
gcrl Yessir, here's another soldier with a 
story for you. This one's a time travel story 
(a-Iways popular) and it's called "Thompson's 
Time Traveling Theory 1 '— a mighty clever little 
yarn, you'll admit, 2nd defying that oldest of 
old taboos "you can't kill your grandfather in a 
time trip because then you yourself won't be 
born — and if you're not born, you can't go back 
into time to kill kim, so . . ." oh heck, you figure 
it out for yourself! 

,'AGNETIC Miss Meteor" (another Finlay!) 
is the latest contribution of Don Wilcox. 
We won't make any further comment, because it 
is obviously unnecessary. We think you'll like it. 

BERKELEY LIVINGSTON returns with "Cokie 
Goes Treasure Hunting" containing those 
characters he's beginning to make famous. As 
a matter of fact, Berkeley knaws whereof he 
speaks when he describes the people in his stories 
— he's been amongst 'em for a good many years, 
observing andimSKing notes, and learning to know 
them as only their friemls can. And it seems 
there's a lot of fantasy in the world "beneath 
the L tracks!" 

SPAWN OF JUPITER" is the kind of a story 
you'd expect to get from good ojd Ed Earl 
Repp. This one's full of all the old hell and high 
water that has thrilled his fans for fifteen years. 

SOME time age we ran a story by Helmar Lewis 
which got aimost as much fan mail as the 
author himself expeoted from it — and that was a 
lot. Then we ran one that got panned. So Hel- 
mar stepped up with a challenge, and dumped 
"Journey In Time To Cleopatra" into our laps — 
which is the wackiest time travel yarn we've seen. 
How about writing Helmar some more letters? 
We don't mind if you pan him a bit— he did a 
lot to destroy our romantic notions about Geo, 
and we gotta have some revenge I 

CROWDED out of this issue was G. H. Irwin's 
"Planet Of Dead Cities." The reason was 
his own insistence that we return the manuscript 
for revision because he thought it wasn't good 
enough! Well, if it's much belter, we won't be- 
lieve it ! And we promise, we'll run it the instant 
we get it backl 

RECENTLY, you may have noticed, we have 
expanded the Discissions columns. This was 
is the nature of an experiment decided upon 
because of many letters written to us by readers 
who felt we were not giving them sufficient room 
for expression, and also were being too harsh in 
(Concluded on page 10) 



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10 


AMAZING STORIES 


SltJtYATOKT 



(Concluded from page 8) 

the matter of "boiling down" their letters, We 
still cut letters, to conserve paper, and to give 
more of you a chance to have your say — but we 
have been amazed and delighted by the response 
our new policy in regard to readers' letters has 
brought. Originally our own editorial column 
got most of (be plaudits for departments, but 
we've been shoved back into limbo now. Vessir, 
it's been a case of "get in, fellas, the water's 
swell!" This month's Discussions will give you 
some idea of how muoh interest has been stirred 
up. 


^ S we were writing this, Mr. Bloch, father of 
■ the author, called us on the phone, since he 
was visiting in Chicago. Mr. Bloch is confined 
to a wheel-chair, bat it has certainly been no 
deterrent to his enthusiasm concerning both his 
son's activities and science fiction. We want to 
pay our respects to a grand old man, and thank 
him for the many kind thimrs he said about us 
and our magazine; It is things like these that 
make us proud to be an editor. 

HPHE piect-de-reshtmce of the next issue (May) 
*■ will be David V. Reed's great new novel (50,- 
000 words) caflerl "Murder In Space" which we 
believe is the scientific detective stery which will 
have you stamping and screaming in the aisles 
for more! If you liked "Empire of Jegga" (wow, 
did you!) you'll go for this in strictly a big way. 
Roses to a great writer for a great story. 

TF we seem to be especially enthusiastic and ad- 
A dieted to adjectives this issue, it is as it seems. 
Doggone it, we're still the kind of fan ourselves 
who thrills over swell science fiction stories, and 
recently they have been coming over our desk in 
delightfully satisfying numbers. Can you imagine 
a job as soft as ours? Sitting here reading hun- 
dreds of swell stories, and playing God in selecting 
the ones you'll read? We humbly hope we're 
doing a good job of it. We don't believe anything 
that has a sock to it is beting turned down, paper 
shortage or no paper shortage! After all. the 
war'll end sometime, and then you'll get the 
works ! 

HpIIIS March issue (since there will be no April 
A issue) is realty our eighteenth anniversary! 
We're launching out on our nineteenth year of 
publication with the next issue. — which makes 
David V. Reeds new novel a sort of celebration 
novel. 


TT doesn't seem nineteen years since we picked 
* up the first issue of Amazino Storhs from a 
newsstand in Milwaukee. We still remember the 
thrill we got to discover there was such a maga- 
zine, and we are still as thrilled as each new issue 
hits our desk. We've lived it, eaten with it, 
slept with it for nineteen years, and by golly, 
we're proud of it. Science fiction has come a long 
way in those years. 

A N amazing thing about this war business is the 
*■ * fact that we have produced prodigiously, 
doubled our navy in one year, are building 100,- 
000 piano: (and more) yearly, are providinn our 
allies with material assistance in mammoth quan- 
tities, with a net result that our natisna! debt 
will mount to 300 billions. All this is achieved 
quite simply in a manner of speaking- — we just 
do it. The debt doesn't bother anyone. It be- 
comes a figure, like the distance to Mars or to the 
nearest star. Something we just dont compre- 
hend. But the main point is that the debt ekiesn't 
hinder us from doing and producing what is 
needed. And whatever else we need will be pro- 
duced. If the war lasts ten years, production of 
war materiel will go right on, and presumably, 
the debt will go right on merrily skyrocketing 
to the distance to the farthest star. Then, after 
peace, and forecast direly right now, comes in- 
flation, national ruination because of (he debt, 
the impossibility of providing even one tenth of 
the material of peace (iceboxes, homes, radios, 
cars) to cover every human want. Why is it 
we can't build things to use peacefully without 
a lot of yelling about ruination, and we can build 
tanks, planes, battleships and a million other 
things to fight with and nobody wails impossible 
at all? To whom do we owe this national debt? 
And why not owe it during peacetime and have 
none of this slums argument, no lack of the ordi- 
nary facilities of civilized life (which arc neces- 
sities, and not luxuries— no implement useful in 
the business of living is a luxury), no denial of 
happiness because of lack of materiel? While we 
are fighting for a better world, let's do a little 
planning on a way to gel it after we've fought 
for it! If the impossible is possible during war- 
time, it is a cinch during peacetime, 

A LL of which, you may say, has nothing to do 
with science fiction — but it has! AMAZING 
STORIES has, inherent in its nature, the power of 
prophecy. Writers dream of the future, producing 
its image in fiction. They forecast things to 
come, and so amazingly accurately ! We can 
number a thousand realities of today which were 
once only fiction in our paj»es. Perhaps a classic 
is the giant land battleship, the tank with which 
Hitler crushed the low countries — and the Panacr 
type of warfare. And Amazing Stoiues has pre- 
sented many stories on the final achievement of 
what we have just said. We fully e*r»ect that, 
to come true loo! Don'l you think so? Rap 


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12 


AMAZING STORIES 


$2000 WAR BOND 



A 


MAZING STORIES is 
pleased to announce the win- 
ner of the Hitler Illustration 
Contest presented in the November, 
1943, issue. 

Given the illustration reproduced 
here, contestants were to write a 
short-story of approximately 1 ,000 
words about it. It was to he a story 
of Hitler seated in a plane or space- 
ship beside an unhuman-looking being. 

As a grand prize for the best story 
written around this illustration, 
AMAZING STORIES offered 
$1,000 in maturity value war bonds, 
with the stipulation that the prize 
would be doubled if the winner was a 
member of any branch of the armed 
forces. The final tabulation of the 
contest by the judges revealed the winner to be a captain in the medical corps 
of the United States Army I Therefore, AMAZING STORIES is proud 
to present a $2,000 war bond and extend its hearty congratulations to: 

CAPTAIN MEYER FRIEDENSON, M.C., U.S.A. 

(HOME ADDRESS) 711 WALTON AVENUE 

BRONX, NEW YORK 

A United States series E War Bond for $2,000 (ma- 
turity value) has been sent to Captain Friedenson. 

The winning story was selected from among ten finalists. Honorable mention 
goes to the following nine contestants (listed alphabetically, not in the order 
of excellence) . 


Contest Illustration 


ARTHUR BERKOWITZ, 
EANDO BINDER, 
MRS. IONE BLOODSWORTH, 
CPL. WILLIAM J. EVANS, 
MISS NELL G. FAHRION, 


RL 1. Box 534-D, La Canada, California. 

136 Tenaily Road, Englewood, New Jersey. 

9766 Rosensteel Ave., Forest Glen, R. F. D., Silver Spring.Md. 

Det Med. Dept., U. S. Army. 

747 Pennsylvania Street, Denver 3, Colorado. 


1ST. LT. MARTIN E. KOSKELA, Coast Artillery Corps, U. S. Army. 
CLAYRE STRZELECKI LIPMAN, 2 29 Sausalito Blyi, Sausalito. California. 

MICHEL LIPMAN, 
JOHN FIELD MULHOLLAND, 


220 Sausalito Blvd.. Sausalito, California, 
Round Lak9, Minnesota, 


AMAZING STORIES 


13 


CONTEST WINNER 


I WAS born in Polotsk, Russia, 
scene of much current war activ- 
ity, on May 15, 1905, and was 
brought to this country at the age of 
1 S months. 

I lived in New York City until the 
age of 14, attending the pubfic schools 
there. My family then moved to Con- 
necticut, first to Ansonia and then to 
New Haven. 

I entered Yale University in 1920 
at the age of 15 and received my B. S. 
degree in 1924, and my M. D. in 
1927. 

1 interned a year in Wilmington, 
Delaware, and another year in New 
York City, and commenced practice in 
1929 in New York, which has been 
my home ever since. 

I am a member of numerous medi- 
cal societies, am certified as a special- 
ist in internal medicine and cardiology. 
I have had several hospital appoint- 
ments and am cardiologist for the 
New York City Health Department. 

I have published numerous medical 
articles in a number of scientific jour- 
nals, but have hitherto never submit- 



Captain Meyer Friedenson. M.C., U.SJU 


ted any item of fiction. 

I have been married for 15 years, 
have a daughter aged 13, who has lit- 
erary ainKtions, and a son aged 8, 
who aspires to the practice of medi- 
cine. 

I have been reading your magazine 
intermittently for the past 15 years. — 
M. Friedenson, Capt. M. C. 


CAPTAIN FRIEDENSON'S prize-winning story is presented on 
the following pages (folios 14 and is) almest exactly as he wrote 
it, with the exception of minor editing such as all manuscripts receive 
before publication. The editors express the opinion that Captain Fried- 
enson, whose experience along fiction lines, he reveals, has been initi- 
ated by this first story, did a mighty swell job of explaining the story 
significance behind our contest illustration. Bis story answered several 
basic demands which all good fiction must have, and at the same time, 
made several u/iique emotional appeals which apply directly to the 
modern world situati&n. His story is truly escapist material, both 
in the imaginative sense, and in the emotional sense. Perhaps no more 
delicate and complete punishment could be devised for the man Ike 
whole world hates! Turn the page and read. . . . 


THE SUPERMAN 

By CAPTAIN MEYER FRIEDENSON 

(Winner in Amazing Stories' Hitler Illustration Contest. See page 12.) 

"w; 


■ ELL, Mephitis— or Adolf 
Hitler, to keep the record 
straight — you've failed 
again! Back to Mars you go . . ." 

"Wait! Wait! Please! Give me 
just a little more time! After all, it 
isn't over yet. I have had only a tem- 
porary setback. I'll get started again 
and then I'll certainly make it. Please 
give me only one more chance." 

"No, we can't do it! We've given 
you 1,500 years already. Isn't that 
enough? You've delayed our plans by 
centuries. All the other planets of the 
solar system have been overcome and 
are completely under our control. Your 
mission was to subjugate Earth, the 
only unconquered planet, and you 
didn't do it. 

"When you were defeated as Attila 
at Chalons in 451, all we got was ex- 
cuses. 'You were betrayed — the 
weather had unexpectedly turned 
against you — you didn't have adequate 
weapons!' You said, 'Just wait until 
next time!' 

"So we waited 750 years until Genghis 
Khan — and what happened? Again 
failure! True, you conquered China, 
then most of Asia, swept westward to 
the Danube. You were ruthless, mer- 
ciless. Remember your pyramid of 
skulls? But finally you weakened and 
once more you failed! And again what 
did we get? Excuses — just excuses! 

"We gave you another 600 years and 
Napoleon. In him you fought and 
killed and conquered your way all across 
Europe, but you just didn't have it in 
you. Remember the retreat from Mos- 
cow? Then 1815 and Waterloo? 
"Our patience had by that time be- 


come exhausted! But you begged and 
whined and pleaded until, in spite of our 
better judgment, we consented to give 
you another century or so. 

"But now you've had your final 
chance, Mephitis, my friend! You 
made a good beginning in rearming the 
Rhineland and taking Czechoslovakia. 
You seemed at your best in Poland, 
Luxembourg, Holland, Belgium, Den- 
mark and Norway (bettering that 
Earth upstart, Hohenzollern). When 
your planes attacked England, we 
thought that you were finally on the 
road to success. You did have the Eng- 
lish on their knees, but you didn't 
finish them. Then again you misjudged 
the Russians! For the final time, 
Mephitis, you've failed. You must be 
liquidated. We've no use for failures." 

"But it isn't over yet! They dou- 
ble-crossed me, those damned Russians! 
In spite of our mutual non-aggression 
pact, they stealthily built up their army, 
their air force, their factories. How 
could I have known that they would 
be such liars and such sneaks? They 
pretended to be weak! 

"I'll beat them yet! Just give me a 
chance! Even now our armies in Rus- 
sia are proceeding westward according 
to plan. We'll entice them all the way 
to Germany and then you'll see! I am 
still strong. I have most of Europe un- 
der my thumb. Think of my army and 
my air force! The Japanese will help 
us. They promised they would! Then 
we'll get them too. Please give me just 
a little more time!" 

"No, Mephitis Hitler, this time you 
are coming back to stand trial for your 
failures!" 


li 


AMAZING 

The spaceship sped smoothly and 
rapidly through the void for several 
days. Landing at a spaceport on the 
outskirts of an enormous city, Hitler 
and his captor took a rapid ground ve- 
hicle to a tall, gloomy structure at its 
center. They entered, proceeded down 
a long corridor to an elevator which 
took them down far below the surface. 
Stepping from the elevator, they walked 
toward a large chamber marked "Court 
of General Failures." They entered. 

Court was in session. Three red- 
robed judges officiated from an elevated 
platform at one end of the dank, bare 
room which was entirely devoid of fur- 
niture, without even so much as a chair 
for the defendant. There was no au- 
dience. 

The prisoner stood facing the court. 
Two of the judges appeared extremely 
bored: one yawned continuously — the 
other was frankly asleep. 

An attendant handed a thick file la- 
beled "Mars versus Mephitis" to the 
third judge who barely glanced at it. 

"You are accused of failure to carry 
out your mission to conquer Earth, and 
thus of hampering our plans to subju- 
gate the entire solar system. We won't 
waste too much time on the trial be- 
cause the facts in this case speak for 
themselves. So we'll dispense with 
prosecution witnesses. 

"There will be no need for a defense 
counsel because this court is absolutely 
honest and unprejudiced. It will im- 
partially consider the interests of both 
sides. 

"Prisoner at the bar, have you 
brought any witnesses to testify in your 
defense?" 

"No, your Honor. I was brought 
here so unexpectedly that — " 

"Well, we'll do without them. You 
won't need witnesses anyhow. Do you 
deny the truth of these charges?" 

"Well, you see—" 


STORIES 15 

"This court, after earnest and care- 
ful consideration of all the evidence and 
all the circumstances finds you guilty 
as charged. Have you anything to 
say before sentence is passed?" 

"Please—" 

"That will be all. We have given 
you too much time already. Years* 
are passing." He turned to his col- 
leagues, both of whom were restlessly 
glancing at their watches. "Are we 
agreed?" 

"Yes, yes," said the two in unison. 
"Let's get it over with. Whatever you 
say . . ." 

"Then it is the sentence of this court 
that you be banished from Mars and 
from Earth for eternity. You will 
spend your days in solitude on a barren 
asteroid one mile in diameter. You will 
be forced to listen continuously to 
scratchy recordings of all your speeches 
on Earth. 

"To show you that this court is not 
entirely without mercy, it will grant you 
a respite of one day for any year during 
which a single kind word has been said 
of you anywhere either on Mars or on 
Earth.* On such a day you may have 
the blessing of complete silence. The 
burden, both to find the evidence of the 
kind word and to prove it to this court, 
will, however, fall on you. Since you 
will be unable to leave the asteroid, 
either to hear what is being said on 
Earth or Mars, or to inform the court 
of it; and since no one will be able to 
communicate with you, we can't see 
how this will help you very much. That 
will, however, be your problem. 

"TAKE HIM AWAY!" 
THE EN D 

* Obviously tome on Mars is a different factor 
than on Earth. Several years passed during the 
trial, therefore a minute on Mars may be a month 
on Earth (in comparison) and so on. — Ed. 

* When the time difference between the two 
worlds is taken into consideration, tius is irony 
indeed ! — Ed. '■ ' • ' 



SMALL WORLD 

&y F or two tiny, bewildered 
ROBERT people, it was a struggle iox 
SLOCM survival in a world of toys 


IT WAS Christmas Eve. Family men 
in their cozy bungalows hummed 
cheerfully as they put the finishing 
touches on Christmas trees. Men of 
affairs slapped each other affably on 
the back and toasted the season in the 
lounges of exclusive clubs. Merry- 
makers crowded the public streets and 
filled the taverns to overflowing. Chil- 
dren caroled gayly in church services. 
Mothers smiled their secret smiles as 
they wrapped presents. 

And Clyde Hilton worked like a lousy 
dog in Propper's toyshop. 

The funny part of it was, Clyde didn't 
care. He was as happy as the rest. 
Twelve hours on his feet today — facing 
mobs of customers gone frantic with 
the necessity of making last-minute pur- 
chases — that was Clyde's lot, but he 
was still smiling. 

From time to time the redheaded 
young man grinned and patted the left- 
hand pocket of his suitcoat. Deep down 
inside reposed a little plush-covered box. 
The box contained an engagement ring. 

Clyde fingered it and grinned — 
grinned at the girl behind the counter 
across the aisle. 

Gwen Thomas was worth grinning at. 
A pert, trim, dark-haired girl with milk- 
white skin and perfectly modeled fea- 
tures — she had the delicacy of a china 
doll. "Exquisite" is a somewhat pre- 
cious word, and yet it exactly described 
Gwen's miniature-like beauty. 

Clyde waited for the moment that he 
would slip the ring on her dainty finger. 
This would be a Christmas they'd both 


remember. To top it off, Old Man 
Propper had promised Clyde a raise. 
He'd winked indulgently at this ro- 
mance between his two clerks, and the 
holiday spirit had him in its grip. 
They'd have a little party after closing- 
time, and then Clyde would give Gwen 
the ring and Old Man Propper would 
say, "Bless you, my children." Just a 
slice out of Dickens. 

Meanwhile, Clyde scribbled furiously 
in his order book, wrestled with the 
wrappings of a hundred packages, tan- 
gled himself in yards of twine and rib- 
bon, punched the cash-register until his 
fingers were blistered, and kept up a 
running fire of sales chatter. 

He had just sold a toy train to the 
fat lady and her husband when he saw 
the man. 

It had been a job, selling this expen- 
sive model, but Clyde was something 
of an expert in the train field and he re- 
joiced in the opportunity of turning on 
high-pressure tactics. So he was quite 
elated, and finished his wrapping with 
deft fingers. 

But he almost dropped the twine 
when the man came in. 

The door opened. The toyshop was 
crowded, and ordinarily an entering 
customer couldn't be detected in the 
throng — but this man was plainly 
visible. 

Clyde stared. 

The man wore a black overcoat with 
a turned-up collar that reached his chin. 
He was hatless, and his wiry gray hair 
stood up in a bushy mop upon his skull. 



17 


18 


AMAZING STORIES 


The man had a great beaked nose, and 
a curiously red mouth. Despite gray 
hair, his face was absolutely unlined. 
Not a wrinkle disturbed the pristine 
pallor of his long face. It was a per- 
fectly blank background for the blaz- 
ing intensity of his eyes. 

If his hair denoted age and his un- 
lined face indicated youth, then his eyes 
were — eternal. 

They were black, but shining — shin- 
ing radiantly with a penetrating fire. 
Two fountains of strength. Clyde saw 
the eyes before he saw anything else, 
and the rest of his scrutiny was just in- 
cidental. He gaped, fascinated. For 
some reason a strange fancy occurred 
to him. During his lifetime, he mused, 
he must have seen a million pairs of eyes 
— but never until now had he realized 
what power the eye could contain. 
Black, blazing fountains. 

There was one other slight excuse for 
Clyde's interest in the stranger. 
The man was seven feet tall. 
He was not a giant, in the ordinary 
sense of the word — not one of those 
tall, thin glandular monstrosities. The 
man was adequately proportioned to his 
height. His shoulders spanned the door- 
way. The chest bulging under the over- 
coat was massive. Clyde saw the man 
reach up and adjust his collar — and his 
hand was the size of a dinner plate. 

/""LYDE watched the massive figure 
move through the milling crowd 
towards his counter. It was only as 
the gigantic bulk loomed directly be- 
fore him that Clyde realized he was 
leading a small boy. 

The child was an insignificant midge, 
contrasted to his huge companion. His 
tousled head scarcely reached the big 
man's knees, although he was large for 
a boy of seven. 

Abruptly, Clyde tore his attention 
away from the ponderous stranger and 


concentrated on the boy. That was sen- 
sible sales psychology — experience had 
taught him that a clerk must study the 
child and try to anticipate his wants. 

Clyde got another shock when he 
scrutinized the boy. Here, in miniature, 
was as strange a creature as the giant. 

For one thing, the boy's clothing 
was adult. Not a smart boy's shop 
imitation of "grown-up" attire — but 
adult. His little topcoat was an au- 
thentic replica of his immense com- 
panion's garb. The boy's hands were 
buried deep in the pockets, and he 
walked with truly adult nonchalance. 
His carriage and demeanor were adult. 

But the boy's face presented the 
strangest paradox. 

Clyde couldn't remember seeing a 
child whose face didn't light up imme- 
diately upon entering the toyshop. Even 
the children of the rich would squeal 
and giggle, their eyes would roll, and 
they would gesture with frantic excite- 
ment. 

This boy was different. His stare 
was cold, unemotional. His pale face 
was as unwrinkled as the curious face 
of the huge man beside him. 

And — his eyes were the same! Deep, 
black, disturbing eyes; the eyes of an 
adult in the face of youth. 

Now giant and infant faced the coun- 
ter before Clyde. He quickly mastered 
his curiosity and assumed his profes- 
sional poise. 

"Good evening," said Clyde. "Can 
I help you?" 

"I wonder," said the tall man. His 
voice had a curious depth; it rolled 
sonorously down upon Clyde's ears. 
Clyde stared up into the white face and 
the glittering eyes. 

But the big man had turned to the 
child. 

"What would you like, son?" he 
asked. 

The child shrugged. It was a 


IT'S A SMALL WORLD 


1» 


strangely sophisticated shrug, a shrug 
of boredom. 

"There is nothing here that interests 
me," he lisped in a childish treble. 

/TYDE did his best to hide his 
strange irritation at the child's 
nonchalance. He smiled down. 

"Isn't there anything you'd like 
Santa Claus to bring you?" he asked. 

"Santa Claus?" said the boy. He 
gazed at Clyde. And then he laughed. 

The laugh did something to Clyde. 
Perhaps he was tired. Perhaps he was 
overwrought. Perhaps his imagination 
was playing tricks. 

But the laugh was adult. Sardonic. 
More than sardonic. It was — evil. 

An evil, knowing chuckle from the 
lips of a child . . . 

No. It couldn't be. Clyde knew he 
was weary, confused. He fought down 
the feeling of frustration. 

"How about an electric train?" he 
coaxed. 

"I've got one, thank you." 

"A sled?" 

"Hardly." 

"We have some wonderful new chem- 
istry sets " 

"I think not." 

Curiously, the boy and the old man 
exchanged glances. The boy didn't 
laugh but his eyes twinkled mockingly. 

Clyde stood there with obvious baffle- 
ment written on his face. The giant 
stranger seemed to sense it. 

"Perhaps we'd better not detain this 
young man, Roger," he said. "We'll 
look around for ourselves, sir. We 
might find something we fancy." 

"Very well." 

Clyde moved down the counter. 

The crowd had thinned out in one 
of those temporary lulls that inex- 
plicably occur in any shop. Clyde saw 
that Gwen was unoccupied at the mo- 
ment. He stepped around the side of 


the other counter and joined her. Her 
tiny hand found his under the conceal- 
ing counter and they stood together, 
smiling. 

Then Gwen gestured at the curious 
pair on the other side of the shop. Her 
eyes clouded, and she repressed a hasty 
gasp. 

"There he is again!" 
"Who?" 

"The giant — the tall man." 
"You've seen him before?" 
"Yes. He came in several days ago, 
when you were out on a delivery." 
"Who is he?" 

"I don't know. I watched Mr. Prop- 
per wait on him. He said he didn't want 
anything — he was just looking around. 
And then he stared at me." 

"Stared at you?" 

"Yes. Did you notice his eyes? 
They're awful, Clyde. Like the eyes of 
a statue. His eyelids don't blink, did 
you notice?" 

"Maybe he takes drugs," Clyde 
grinned. But he didn't feel any amuse- 
ment. Gwen had noticed the eyes, 
too. . . . 

"Oh! There it is again — that stare 
It was true. 

Turning, Clyde saw that the tall man 
was peering across the room. His gaze 
fastened upon the girl at Clyde's side. 
Intense, penetrating, beating down like 
a palpable weight, his stare consumed 
the girl. 

And the tiny eyes of the boy added 
to the barrage of scrutiny. The two of 
them were smiling — giant and dwarf, 
smiling alike, as they stared. And now, 
unobtrusively, the giant bent his mas- 
sive head and listened as the boy whis- 
pered something to him. His stubby 
finger gestured their way. The man 
smiled, shook his gray mane. 

"Clyde, I don't like that man," whis- 
pered the girl. 


20 


AMAZING STORIES 


"Never mind, darling. He's just a 
screwball. I'll get rid of him now." 
Clyde patted Gwen's shoulder and 
stepped briskly around the counter. He 
marched over and confronted his un- 
usual customers. 

''Did you find anything?" he asked. 
It was hard to keep his voice from 
quivering, strangely difficult to keep 
his face from betraying the repulsion 
he felt. 

^HE tall man bent his great head and 
smiled benevolently at Clyde. That 
is, his face smiled. His eyes merely 
flamed. 

"Not for Roger, here," he said. "But 
there's another little boy I'd like to se- 
lect a gift for. I think I'll take that 
tricycle over there." 

A finger the size of a wax taper 
stabbed suddenly in the direction of a 
tricycle. 

"Yes," piped Roger. "We'll take 
that." The child's face was suddenly 
animated, purposeful. 

"Good. That will be $10.95. Shall 
I wrap it up for delivery?" 

"If you will please. I notice you 
have facilities for gift-wrapping in the 
back room. Would you mind ?" 

"Not at all." 

Clyde grasped the tricycle and lugged 
it back to the room behind the curtains. 
As he passed Gwen he flashed her a 
smile. Her responding glance held a 
nuance of peculiar entreaty. 

Nerves. Clyde pondered on the 
question as he mapped the gift. Long 
hours and grueling work took their toll. 
He'd reached the point where he was 
imagining things. Just because an un- 
usually tall man had a bored brat of a 
son, he had let his fancy run riot. 

Maybe the old boy did take drugs. 
Perhaps the kid was a prodigy, or at 
least precocious. What was so unusual 
in that? Much ado about nothing. 


Well, in an hour the toyshop would 
close and he'd give the ring to Gwen, 
and they'd go somewhere and have a 
quiet holiday drink together — forget all 
this nonsense about giant's eves. 

There! 

Deftly, Clyde completed the gift- 
wrapping, his red hair hanging over his 
forehead as he frowned in concentra- 
tion. Brushing back the loose strands, 
he grasped the package and marched 
back into the shop. 

The crowd was thicker now. But as 
his eyes moved over the confines of the 
toyshop, Clyde realized that the old 
man and his son were gone. 

They had disappeared ! 

A curious tingling crept along his 
spine. Hastily, he glanced behind the 
counters on either side of the toyshop. 
Where was Gwen? 

The tingling merged into a lurching 
shudder. 

Gwen had vanished ! 

Mustering his confidence, Clyde 
strode down the counter. Old Prop- 
per's bald head gleamed as he bent over 
a tray of toy soldiers. 

"Pardon me, Mr. Propper," Clyde 
murmured. "Have you seen Gwen?" 

"Gwen? She was over there just a 
minute ago. Talking to the big man." 

"But he's gone." 

"I know, Clyde. I saw him go out 
with the little boy." 
"Gwen didn't leave with them, did 

she?" 

Clyde felt foolish as he asked the 
question, but he couldn't hold it back. 

Propper stared at him. "Of course 
she didn't," he snapped. "She must be 
in the back room. Where else?" 

Clyde didn't answer. He knew 
Gwen wasn't in the back room. Still, he 
stepped through the curtains once more. 

The room he had just quited was still 
empty. And over on the wall were the 
hangers. Hangers that held Gwen's fur 


IT'S A SMALL WORLD 


21 


coat and perky little green hat. 

She couldn't have run out into the 
snow without putting them on. 

Heart pounding, Clyde retraced his 
steps. He surveyed the toyshop quick- 
ly. He tried to recollect his movements. 

He had gone in to wrap the tricycle. 
He had left the giant standing there, 
behind that counter near the corner. 
And Gwen had been across the aisle. 

All very simple. And what did it 
matter? The giant wasn't an ogre, or 
a demon. He couldn't have whisked 
Gwen through the walls. Besides, Mr. 
Propper had seen the tall man and the 
little boy go out of the shop — alone. 

Still, Gwen was gone. 

And the tall man and the child had 
whispered together and pointed at 
her . . . 

/^LYDE knew he was behaving like a 
fool as he rounded the counter in 
the corner. Here was an alcove hidden 
from the rest of the shop. A little re- 
cess in the wall. 

The giant had stood near here. If he 
beckoned Gwen over, they'd be stand- 
ing unobserved. 

Still, what good would that do? What 
did it mean ? 

Then Clyde's moving left foot en- 
countered a soft, tangling encumbrance. 

He almost stumbled over the pile. 
Hastily he glanced down. Glanced 
down and saw the disheveled bundle on 
the floor. 

Gwen's clothes! 

There was her black dress. Yes, and 
beneath it her stockings, still in her 
shoes! And beneath that, a brassiere, 
a slip. 

Clyde knelt and fingered the gar- 
ments. 

They were still warm, still bore the 
imprint of Gwen's body. 

Gwen's clothes, in a tangled heap on 
the toyshop floor. 


And where was Gwen? 

Clyde's groping fingers encountered 
a small, hard length lying against the 
counter. He grasped a hidden object, 
held it up. 

A pencil stub. A pencil stub from 
Gwen's order book. 

He ran his right hand in swift ex- 
ploration across the floor near the pile 
of garments. 

In a moment he found Gwen's order 
book, raised it. 

The top sheet was covered with a 
sprawling scrawl — not the neat letter- 
ing of Gwen's precise handwriting on 
an order — just an awkward scribble. 

But as Clyde read it, his senses spun. 

Merely a name, and an address. But 
somehow, Clyde know there was a con- 
nection. He deciphered the wobbly 
lettering: 

"Simon Mallot. 4954 Archmore 
Court. Clyde " 

Just that, and nothing more. "Clyde," 
was the last word. The end of the "e" 
had been abruptly drawn out in a jagged 
slash across the page. As though Gwen 
had been interrupted in her message. 

As though Gwen had shrieked for 
help just as a hand closed over her 
mouth. A hand like a dinner plate. 
The hand of a giant! 

CHAPTER II 

The Giant's Castle 

'"THE streets of Manhattan were 
thronged with holiday revelers. 
Scarcely ten minutes had elapsed since 
Clyde had read the peculiar scrawl on 
Gwen's order book, and yet swift strides 
had already carried him far uptown, to- 
wards Archmore Court. 

Old Man Propper had accepted his 
hastily-worded excuse and let him go 
with a curt nod of his bald head. Now, 
his overcoat wrapped tightly around 


22 


AMAZIN© STORIES 


him as a shield against the fine-spun 
snow, Clyde forced his way through 
the mob with flailing arms. 

It was impossible to find a cab, and 
his impatience brooked no delay. His 
pace increased, his stride lengthened. 

Curious thoughts churned through 
his head. 

Christmas Eve I 

Bells tolled their rejoicing in his ear, 
and yet Clyde heard only the resonance 
of a funereal note — a note of doom. 

Holiday merrymakers called their 
cheery greetings — Clyde listened to a 
voice within himself: the voice of Gwen, 
screaming his name. 

Christmas time . . . festival time! 
Clyde thought of older, pagan festivals. 
Festivals dedicated net to a kindly 
Christ-child, but to older, darker gods. 
Gods of blood and sacrifice. Gods that 
granted black booms— and took a grisly 
toll. Gods that were worshipped by 
pale-faced men with set and staring 
eyes. Deep-set, fanatical eyes . . . like 
the eyes of the giant 

Simon Mallot. 

That was his name. But who was he, 
really? And what was he? 

4054 Arckmore Court. 

Where was it, and what was it? 

Clyde clutched the order book in his 
pocket and hurried along. 

His way led him now through quieter 
side streets. Streets where no Yuletide 
lights shone in the windows. Streets 
given over to winter wind and midnight 
shadow. Streets that coiled and twisted 
their snowy surfaces beckoning down 
to darker depths. 

Clyde felt like a pigmy running along 
on the back of some fabulously enor- 
mous serpent. A snow-serpent wound 
around between the looming buildings. 
Soon he would reach the serpent's head, 
the serpent's fangs, the serpent's blaz- 
ing eyes. 

Blazing eyes 


Clyde saw the lights before bim. He 
knew, instantly, that this was the place. 
The great house stood set back from 
the street. A stonewall guarded the tree- 
girdled grounds. But the huge struc- 
ture loomed above it on a little eminence 
of land. From a block away, Clyde 
could see the glittering lights in the 
lower windows. 

Fantastically enough, the brightest 
cluster radiated from a rainbow-hued 
Christmas tree set fully visible against 
broad French windows on the ground 
floor. 

Clyde paused before the outer gate 
long enough to read the numerals. S9S4. 
This was it! 

He marched up to the steps, faced 
the outer door. Then, and only then, 
did he pause. 

What would he do? 

Clyde knew how to gain admittance. 
He had Gwen's scrawled order slip with 
Simon Mallot's name on it. And he'd 
hastily wrapped a small package. He 
was there to "deliver" it. 

But after that 

Clyde didn't know. Would he accuse 
Mallot of murder? Kidnaping? Forc- 
ing Gwen to do a strip-tease? 

It didn't make sense. Only his hid- 
eous hunch made him persist. It might 
■ all be a hysterical fantasy, a delusion. 
But he had to find out. He had to get 
inside this house and see Mallot. May- 
be there'd be a clue — or, on the other 
hand, a perfecdy sensible and obvious 
explanation. Maybe he'd end up in jail 
for creating a scene and making ridic- 
ulous accusations. 

TIE HAD to take the chance. 

His fingers, numb with cold, 
reached out and groped for a bell 
buzzer. 

The great oaken door was smooth. 
Stabbing pain lanced his finger-tips. 
Pain? Cold. Icy coldness, as he felt 


IT'S A SMALL WORLD 


23 


a round object under his palm. 
A door-knocker. 

Clyde raised it, let it fall. A hollow 
clang resounded. 

The wind drowned all sound of ap- 
proaching footsteps from within. But 
suddenly the door swung open, a fan 
of light poured forth. 

Clyde looked up automatically, anti- 
cipating the seven-foot bulk of the 
giant. 

But it was a small man who an- 
swered his summons. A small man 
dressed in discreet evening clothes. A 
butler. 

"Yes sir?" 

"I'm from Propper's toyshop," Clyde 
explained. "I've this package for Mr. 
Mallot." He extended his slip and re- 
vealed the brown parcel in his pocket. 

"Very good." The butler took it and 
prepared to turn away. 

"ft — it isn't paid for," Clyde mum- 
bled. "I was told to wait." 

The butler frowned. "This is rather 
unusual," he said. "Mr. Mallot left no 
instructions." He coughed. "I'll call 
him." 

The door began to close. 

Clyde stepped forward hastily. His 
foot wedged in the doorway with all the 
dexterity expected of a Fuller Brush 
man. 

"Could I wait inside?" he asked. "It's 
rather brisk out here." 

The butler hesitated, shrugged. 

"Very well," he said. "You may wait 
in the hall if you like." 

Clyde entered the spacious hallway. 

Burdened by suspicion, Clyde was 
prepared for almost anything. He ex- 
pected a long, dimly-lighted corridor; 
gloomy, paneled walls, ancient tapes- 
tries. 

Instead, he stood in a completely 
modern hallway, brilliantly illuminated 
to highlight cream-colored walls. Silver 
mirrors added a cheerful touch. 


The butler faded from view. Clyde 
stood there, fidgeting and gazing down 
at the French blue of the carpeting. 

There was a sliding door open at one 
side. A still greater brilliance corus- 
cated from the room beyond. Clyde 
stepped to the doorway. 

He stared into a spacious side parlor. 
The room was immense, with high walls 
running up to an adroitly domed ceil- 
ing. One side only was graced with 
long French windows. Against the win- 
dows reared the dazzling ornamenta- 
tion of a tremendous Christmas tree. 

The tree cast glowing benediction 
over the room. Sparkling lights were 
strung through the pine bows. Great 
globular and pendant ornaments flashed 
and shone on the branches. Icicles and 
tinsels festooned each twig. 

There was something soothing and 
reassuring in the sight of this holiday 
emblem. Clyde's unformulated fears 
fell away. Surely there was some mis- 
take. There was nothing but Christ- 
mas in this house. 

As if to confirm this judgement, the 
rest of the room offered mute testimony 
in corroboration. Clyde saw that the 
floor was covered with gift packages 
and parcels in gay wrappings. Toys 
were scattered about in abundance. 
Blocks, tin soldiers, roller skates — he 
recognized the familiar offerings of the 
Yuletide. Around the entire room ran 
a border of steel in the form of tracks 
for a toy railroad train. 

This must be Roger's playroom. The 
typical playroom of a rich man's son. 
Now it was cheery and homelike, in 
keeping with the Christmas spirit. 

/~JLYDE sighed. There must be some 
mistake! Could it be that the 
giant had given the wrong name and 
address? Could he have been clever 
enough to know that Gwen might leave 
it as a clue? 


24 


AMAZING STORIES 


It was probably so. Clyde had been 
sent off on a wild-goose chase. He mast 
retrace his steps to the shop, start all 
over again. For surely there was no 
evil here. 

He'd only be making a fool of him- 
self if he stayed. When a stranger came 
down to pay him, he'd be in a mess. He 
could sneak out right now. No one 
would notice. Perhaps 

Then Clyde heard the voice. 

It was like the voice of Conscience — 
faint and far away. High and shrill, 
from inside his brain. 

"Clyde!" the voice wailed. "Clyde. 
I'm here. Save me ! " 

Nerves. He was tired. Hallucina- 
tions mast be shaken off, ignored. 

"Clyde I" 

No ! The voice was not illusion. He 
did hear it; a tiny wailing from far 
away. Heard and recognized the thin 
cry. 

"Clyde 1 Look at me here — here I 
am." 

He whirled around, startled. His 
eyes searched the room. Of course 
there was no one visible. 

Could it be coming through the floor, 
the ceiling, the walls? No. It wasn't 
muffled. The sound, however faint, 
was clear and unblurred. 

"Over here I Hurry I " 

The voice came from near the win- 
dows. Clyde moved closer to the tree. 
The brilliant light threw every inch of 
the room there into high relief. He 
saw nothing. 

Clyde stared dully at the tree, and 
the voice wailed higher and higher. 

"Hene I am, darling. Here," the 
voice implored. "Here I am — on the 
treel" 

Suddenly the world exploded. 
Through the mist came a crimson flash 
of comprehension. Clyde stared at the 
Christmas tree and saw. 

Hanging from an upper branch of 


the Christmas tree, midway between an 
ornament and a candy cane, was a cello- 
phane envelope. It dangled by a length 
of blue ribbon and swung to and fro. 

Within that envelope, neatly wrapped 
in cellophane, was the writhing figure 
of Gwen. 

Gwen — shrunken to two inches in 
height! 

CHAPTER HI 
The Tall Man Again 

"QLYDE, I knew you'd come! Thank 
heaven you found me in time!" 

Clyde struggled to control bis voice 
and features as he stared at the in- 
credibly tiny figure on the tfiee. "What 
happened?" he muttered hoarsely. 

"tt was the tall man," answered tie 
girl. Her voice came faintly through 
the cellophane. Clyde bent closer and 
scowled. 

"I knew iti" he sighed. 

"He sent you into the back to wrap 
a package. That was a trick. He must 
have planned it that way. Because he 
beckoned for me to come over. 

"He and the boy were standing next 
to the alcove in the far corner. He had 
a toy in his hands and he asked me 
how much it cost. 

"All the while he kept staring at me 
with those eyes of his. Those eyes! 
I told you how I remembered them from 
the time he'd come in before. Deep, 
burning eyes. 

"Bet as I stood there, I realized he 
had never really looked at me until now. 
He gazed at me . . . and through me . . . 
and then into me. 

"I could feel it! His eyes reached 
inside of me and plucked out my con- 
sciousness. I knew it. Knew he was 
hypnotizing. But all the while another 
part of me knew that he was going right 
on talking, smiling, behaving normally 


IT'S A SMALL WORLD 


25 


in case anyone happened to look into 
the alcove. Only his eyes held me, and 
gloated and stared. 

"I couldn't look away. I swear it — 
I'd have given my soul to look away, but 
I could not. And once he looked at 
me, I no longer had a soul to give. He 
was drawing it into his eyes. Into those 
deep, dark glowing pools, as he stood 
there with iris red lips smiling in his 
huge white face ... I felt the world 
swim around me . . . 

"His long, slim hands reached into 
his pocket and pulled out something. 
I couldn't see what it was. 

"I managed to choke out something. 
I had to speak, pretend I didn't know 
what we both knew — that his eyes held 
me so. 

"I asked him for his name and ad- 
dress and if he wanted this toy deliv- 
ered. 

"He answered, and my hand wrote 
it down on the pad. You see, I knew 
already that I must warn you. Of what, 
I couldn't guess. But those eyes had 
me and I knew they wouldn't let me go. 

"So I scrawled it off, but he only 
grinned, and I know the child was grin- 
ning too. And then his eyes seemed to 
get larger, like two burning moons. 
They rocketed up towards my face and 
I know my order book dropped out of 
my hands and then he ran his long 
fingers across my arm. 

"I felt something pinch me. There 
was a tingling sensation near my elbow 
and then — I fell into those two burning 
moons. They rushed up and became 
one solid lake of orange fire, and I — I 
drowned. 

"When I came to, I was here — on the 
tree." 

r^LYBK stared at that tiny, incredible 
body. It couldn't be true, and yet 
. it was. The girl was Gwen. Cellophane- 
wrapped, yet nude save for the blue rib- 


bon fastened about her hips. She 
looked exactly the way Clyde had al- 
ways teased her about — like a doll. A 
human, living doll! 

How had it happened? And why? 

No time to consider that now. For 
Gwen's diminutive face puckered in 
utter panic. 

"What can we do?" she whispered. 

Clyde straightened up. The scowl 
seemed a permanent part of his fea- 
tures now. 

"The first thing to do is get you out 
of here," he declared. "Quickly, before 
Simon Mallot comes back." 

He stretched out his left hand cau- 
tiously and unfastened the cord of blue 
ribbon from the tree-branch. He lifted 
down the cellophane pouch containing 
the tiny living girl. 

Gently, he eased it into his coat 
pocket. 

"Plenty of air for you," he mur- 
mured. "Just be still and don't worry. 
I'll get you out of here and then — we'll 
see." 

Clyde turned on tiptoe and headed 
for the open door. He moved swiftly, 
silently. 

Something swifter and more silent 
slithered through the doorway and ran 
across his path. 

A black cat melted into the room. 
Clyde glanced down at it, startled: 
glanced into the cat's great, green, 
glowing eyes. 

Then Clyde looked up — and stared 
into the great, glowing eyes of Simon 
Mallot 1 

The giant towered in the doorway. 
He stood there quietly and smiled. 

Clyde returned no answering smile 
as he surveyed the gigantic figure of the 
tall man. Simon Mallott was wearing a 
long white lounging robe, blending un- 
cannily with his pale skin. But his lips 
shone redly and his eyes glared blackly 
as he stooped and clasped his elongated 


20 


AMAZING STORIES 


fingers about the body of the cat. 

He lifted the black cat to a perch on 
his shoulders, but all the while he 
riveted his glance on Clyde. The cat 
added its baleful stare. Both cat and 
man wore a smirk of feline malice. 

"Were you leaving?" asked the giant. 
The deep voice droned mockingly. 

"Yes — I must get back to the shop." 
Clyde essayed a smile. 

"Not so hastily, I hope," said Simon 
Mallot. "Won't you stay and share our 
holiday hospitality?" 

"Sorry, but I haven't time," Clyde 
muttered. "I must do my own celebrat- 
ing later.'.' 

"Very well — if you insist." 

To his surprise, Clyde saw the giant 
step aside from the doorway. A huge 
arm swooped outward in a gesture of 
polite dismissal. 

Clyde walked from the room. 

He'd made it! 

"One moment." 

r p 1 HE voice was even, but there was a 
sardonic undertone. 
Clyde turned. 

"Before you leave," said Mallot, 
smoothly, "you might return my prop- 
erty to me." 

"Property?" 

"Exactly." Mallot smiled. 

"What might that be?" 

"Just a little thing — a mere toy — 
an ornament from my Christmas tree." 

Clyde couldn't control his voice, any 
more than he could control the goose- 
flesh on his neck. 

"I don't know what you're talking 
about," he gasped. 

"Ah. Then perhaps — this — will stim- 
ulate your memory." 

"This" proved to be a gun. Mallot 
pulled it from the pocket of his white 
robe. It was a big Luger. but it looked 
like a child's cap-pistol in the great 
hand of the giant. Still, it was large 


enough for Clyde. And it did impress 
him — particularly when Mallot pointed 
the muzzle at his heart. Mallot's grin 
was as cold as the steel of the gun-bar- 
rel. 

"You know I'll kill you instantly if 
you don't obey," said Mallot. 
Clyde knew. 

There was nothing else to do. Hand 
trembling, he groped in his overcoat 
pocket and diew out the cellophane 
package — the little package that (gro- 
tesque thought!) contained all that he 
loved in the world. 

Gwen's fear-filled faee stared up at 
him in a perfect miniatnre of horror. 

Then the great hand extended and 
swept the cellophane from Clyde's palm. 
Fingers thick as dynamite sticks 
squeezed the tiny body of the gid. She 
squirmed helplessly in tie giant's grasp. 

Mallot grinned, baring tusk-llke 
teeth in a smile that held only gloating 
mirth. 

"My little boy would be so disap- 
pointed if he found his new toy miss- 
ing. He had his heart set on Miss 
Thomas for a plaything." 

"Plaything?" Clyde choked out the 
word. 

"Yes." Casually, the Luger moved 
forward, forcing Clyde back into the 
great room. Mallot closed the door and 
then turned to the Christmas tree. 
Three enormous strides took him over 
to the window. Carefully, gently, he 
hung Gwen's cellophane pouch back 
on the branches. Then he turned to 
the young man once more. 

"Roger is a most unusual child, as 
you will discover. He has quite ec- 
centric tastes — and it is my pleasure to 
encourage them." 

Clyde couldn't hold it back any 
longer. Forgetting the Luger, forget- 
ting all caution or diplomacy, he burst 
out in frantic rage. 

"You monster! I don't know how 



28 


AMAZING STORIES 


you did this, or what you intend, but 
you can't get away with it! " 

Mallot laughed. The windows rat- 
tled. 

"A rather melodramatic speech," he 
observed. "It might sound more con- 
vincing if you had this to emphasize 
your sentiments." He glanced at his 
Luger significantly. He began to come 
closer, and Clyde saw the outthrust 
muzzle of the weapon level at his heart 
once more. 

"Naturally, now that you have been 
so — frank — I would be foolish to al- 
low you to depart," said the giant, 
suavely. "So perhaps I had better " 

The great eyes flickered. Mallot 
halted. "No," he purred. "Perhaps 
I'm just a sentimental fool. The sea- 
son, you know — holiday spirit and all 
that sort of thing. But I won't kill 
you. Besides, it might spoil Roger's 
Christmas if he knew." 

He stared at Clyde. Again, the 
gloating smile. 

"You have red hair," he commented. 
"Roger should find you amusing." 

The giant stalked closer. "Yes," he 
said. "It would be a surprise, too." 

Clyde watched and waited. He tried 
to look at the black cat perched on Mal- 
lot's shoulder. But out of the corner 
of his eye, he watched the approaching 
muzzle of the gun. It was so small, 
compared to the vast bulk of the giant. 
But there was a chance. If he could 
leap forward, grab the gun, turn it on 
Mallot, now 

Clyde waited. He stared at the cat's 
glaring eyes. The gun came close. The 
giant smiled. Clyde stood poised, 
ready. He tensed to spring 

More quickly than the eye could fol- 
low, Mai lot's free hand darted forward. 
Clyde went for the gun, but as he 
moved he felt the giant's great paw 
brush his elbow. There was a faint 
prickling sensation in his arm. 


The sensation rose, magnified with 
incredible acceleration. For an instant 
Clyde felt his sweaty palms close about 
the Luger's muzzle. For a fraction of a 
second he knew he was struggling for- 
ward. Then everything whirled and 
there was nothing but the eyes of the 
cat on Mallot's shoulder — eyes loom- 
ing up larger and larger. Great, green 
liquid eyes. 

Clyde fell forward, fell into the eyes, 
drowned deep in an emerald lake. 

CHAPTER IV 
The Enormous Room 

JT'S hard to awaken from a nightmare. 

The darkness has tentacles, and the 
inky strands are imbedded deep in your 
brain, trying to pull you back— trying 
to pull yon down once more into the 
screaming depths. 

Clyde fought the tentacles, fought the 
clutching filaments of fear, struggled 
into consciousness. 

He blinked, opened his eyes fully. 

It was morning. 

He couldn't see clearly, but he rec- 
ognized daylight around him. He turned 
his head, shook away the confusion. 
Now his body tingled with awareness 
once more. He could feel a constric- 
tion under his armpits, a tension. 

Clyde looked down. A great bolt of 
yellow cloth swathed his body. The 
ends of the bolt were drawn under his 
arms, passed up somewhere behind his 
head. He was hanging suspended by 
the bolt of cloth. No wonder there was 
pressure! 

Yes, he was h a n g i n g — but from 
what? 

Clyde glanced down. And then he 
knew. 

He was hanging from the Christmas 
tree — hanging from the tree as Gwen 
had hung there the night before! 


IT'S A SMALL WORLD 


29 


With a thrill of horrified recognition 
he stared down — down past a million 
swirling constellations— down past the 
glacial splinters of a thousand icicles- 
down through a forest of bristling 
spears— down at the far-away floor of 
the enormous room. 

Miles away he discerned the gleam- 
ing tracts of a railroad line and the 
huge cluster of yards and terminals. 
Columns of soldiers marched across the 
great plateau in the center of the open 
area, marched towards the rearing 
towers of a mighty city. 

Of course! The city was made of 
building blocks. The soldiers were 
lead and tin. The railroad was a toy- 
train and the tracks against the wall 
were not miles away, but a mere fifty 
feet. 

The sky so far above was just the 
domed ceiling. But if that was so— why 
did the sun hurt his eyes? 

It blazed with fiendish intensity as he 
squinted off into the distance. 

Then Clyde realized that the bril- 
liance came from the lights on the 
Christmas tree from which he hung. 
The swirling constellations were glitter- 
ing ornaments. The glacial icicles were 
merely tinfoil decorations. The forest 
of bristling spears was made up of pine 
needles on the branches of the tree. 

He had suffered Gvea's fate. He was 
a mannikin, two inches high. A doll, 
hanging by a yellow ribbon, on a Christ- 
mas tree. The way Gwen had hung 

Gwenl 

He turned. The ribbon swayed 
gently as he moved his neck. 

Gwen hung there, almost at his side. 
She was sleeping— her head hung in 
utter exhaustion as he gazed at her 
through her protective wrapper of cel- 
lophane. 

"Gwenl" he whispered. She did not 
stir. 

Then he realized that the volume of 


his tiny voice no longer mattered. 

"Gwenl" he shouted. 

Her blue eyes opened. She stared, 
recognized him. 

"Clyde, darling! I saw him do it to 
you — he had a needle in his hand. A 
very tiny needle. He jabbed it into 
your elbow — you fell, and then " 

"Yes?" 

Her faint voice trembled and she 
turned away. He could hear her mur- 
muring faintly. 

"Oh, it was horrible! It happened 
so suddenly, so quickly! You just 
seemed to shrivel up inside your clothes. 
One minute you were standing there, 
and the next — you were gone. Your 
clothes just fell to the floor. Stockings 
still in the shoes, shirtsleeves still 
tucked into your trousers, and the over- 
coat still covering your suit. 

"Mallot reached down and plucked 
you out of your own trouser-cuft! You 
lay there like a tiny doll, and he 
wrapped you in the yellow ribbon and 
hung you on the tree here. 

"He must have used the needle on 
me, too — after hypnotizing me in the 
shop. It just takes an instant. No 
wonder nobody noticed, and he could 
walk out so easily — with me in his 
pocket! And now he's done it to you. 
Oh, darling, what can we do? What 
can we do?" 

/^LYDE would gladly have given his 
life for the answer, but it was not 
forthcoming. And as he groped for 
words, for consolation and reassurance, 
there was an interruption. 

A wind swept through the tree. And 
then, ponderously from below, the tre- 
mor of an earthquake rocked and vi- 
brated. 

It took Clyde a moment to realize 
that the wind came from the opening of 
the door, and the earthquake tremor 
was the thud of footsteps. 


30 


AMAZING STORIES 


A giant thundered into the room. 
A giant? Clyde recognized the boy, 
Roger. 

Last night he had been a little child. 
This morning he was a huge creature, 
massive as a mountain. 

He ran into the room, uttering a 
boyish whoop that smote Clyde's tiny 
eardrums like the drums of death. 

"Where is it?" he yelled. "Where's 
the surprise?" 

A face like a billboard illustration 
loomed before the figures on the tree. 

Clyde stared at the great ridged nose, 
the flaming open-hearth furnace of the 
mouth, and the great bloated globes of 
Roger's rolling eyes. They were huge 
white balloons with dark centers. A 
network of red veins crawled like ser- 
pents across the milky white portions. 

Clyde stared into the pupils as though 
viewing the reflecting mirrors on a gi- 
gantic telescope. Stared at his own 
image. 

"Look ! They're alive ! " yelled Roger. 

His gigantic paws reached out. His 
hand almost brushed Clyde's body, but 
reached past it as the boy took Gwen 
from the tree. His clumsy fingers tore 
away the cellophane. Clyde writhed in 
fury as her body wriggled in the pudgy 
palm of the boy. 

Then the world reeled as Clyde felt 
himself lifted from the tree by his yel- 
low ribbon. He heard booming laugh- 
ter from above, then sickened as his 
body took a roller-coaster dip through 
space. He had been deposited on the 
floor. 

His bare feet sank into the carpet. 
Fringes rose like grass about his ankles. 

A few feet away — inches, really — 
Gwen was tottering along. Circulation 
was slowly being restored to her numbed 
limbs. Clyde moved towards her, 
thankful as he felt the blood surge pain- 
fully to the soles of his feet. 

"Gwen. Are you all right?" 


Suddenly something red blocked his 
path. Clyde turned and a heavy 
weight struck him behind the knees. 
He fell. 

The boy had tripped him with his 
finger. 

Booming laughter came from blocks 
above them in empty air. 

"I'll build you a house," roared 
Roger's voice. 

The hand scooped down, grasped 
them both, and took them for a dizzy- 
ing elevator ride. L T p and down again 
on another portion of the carpet. They 
tumbled out, gasping. 

The hand came down once more, de- 
positing a six-foot wooden wall at their 
backs. Clyde turned. Wall? It was 
merely a 2 -inch building block with the 
letter B raised on its surface. 

"A house," echoed the voice. 

Another block appeared before them. 
And another. In a few seconds, a score 
of blocks were solidly piled on all four 
sides of the tiny figures. The light was 
blotted out and they crouched in the 
gloom. The second and third tiers of 
blocks trembled. 

So did Clyde. 

If that crazy kid made a mistake and 
one of the blocks wasn't properly bal- 
anced — it would slip down and kill 
them both! 

What a fate ... to be crushed to 
death by an alphabet block I 

Jj^ VOICE boomed from above them 
— a voice with echoes that rever- 
berated more deeply than Roger's tones. 

"Breakfast, Master Roger." 

It was the voice of the butler. Clyde 
recognized it, distorted as it was, and 
magnified a hundred-fold. 

He heard Roger grumble from out- 
side the block-house. 

"All right," he said. "I'm coming. 
Just as soon as I put a roof on this 
house." 


IT'S A SMALL WORLD 


31 


A block appeared in the opening 
above their heads and wedged itself 
down tightly, balancing on three sides 
of the walls. A faint crevice of light 
remained on the fourth side which the 
roof+Iock didn't touch. 

The roof-block trembled as Roger's 
footsteps thudded across the room. 
Then, silence. 

"He's gone," whispered Gwen. "Now 
what?" 

"Watch me." Clyde almost grinned. 
This was his chance and he was ready. 

"You can't possible push these heavy 
blocks aside," Gwen sighed, anticipat- 
ing a move on his part. 

"I don't intend to," Clyde answered. 
"But the letters on these blocks are 
raised. I can climb up on the lettering. 
If I get to the top, I can topple that 
roof-block off. It's resting pretty 
loosely." 

"But it's twenty feet to the top — 
you'll fall 1 " Gwen objected. 

"Worth trying," Clyde grunted. 

The redheaded young man glanced 
around in the gloom. The letter B 
loomed at his left. 

"Here goes," he announced. 

Hands found a lodging, toes a foot- 
hold, and Clyde wriggled his way up 
the side of the block. 

L was the next step, and Clyde man- 
aged to literally "shinny" his way up 
the angular six-foot letter. The O 
above it was much easier to follow. 
Clyde hung to the upper rim and slowly 
forced his head and shoulders through 
the crevice open at the roof. 

"Gwen!" he called. "Stand back 
against the wall. I'm going to rock this 
block off by its own momentum — but 
it may fall inside. Look out!" 

Bracing his legs against the upper 
loop of 0, Clyde grasped the rough, 
splintered edges of the roof-block and 
tugged. It gave perceptibly. He 
swayed back and forth. Soon the block 


teetered on a widening arc. He felt it 
tremble, sway outwards 

"Here goes I" he shouted. 

With a thunderous crash, the block 
hurtled down to the carpet below. 

Clyde trembled. That noise! 

Then he realized that the noise was 
proportionately inaudible to normal 
human ears. He grinned. 

"Now we're dear, darling," he called. 
"Climb up the letters. I'll reach down 
and pull you up." 

("1WEN joined him, gasping for 
breath. Her lovely black curls 
hung in bewitching disarray across her 
bared shoulders. Clyde pulled her up 
te the top of the block-heap and took 
her in his arms. 

There was a single blissful moment 
— but that was all. 

"Now, down the sides," Clyde com- 
manded. "Hurry!" He slid down C, 
clambered down an H, and finally stood 
on the topmost loop of an R as he as- 
sisted Gwen in her descent. At last they 
stood safely outside the block-house 
once again. 

"Now where?" asked the girl. 

Clyde bit his lip. Her words merely 
echoed his own confusion. They were 
free of the wooden prison — but how to 
attain greater freedom? 

The vast green expanse of the carpet 
stretched endlessly before them. The 
white door was a mile away. And as 
they walked, their tiny feet sank deeply 
into the nap of the carpet. Sharp ends 
bit into their heels. 

"Clyde— I can't go any further " 

Panic and desperation made the girl 
blurt out the words. 

Panic and desperation gave Clyde his 
inspiration. 

His eye had caught the gleam of metal 
against the wall, where the carpet 
ended. A huge contrivance rested there 
— a great metal cart on gleaming 


32 


AMAZING STORIES 


wheels, ponderous as a juggernaut. 

"A roller-skate!" Clyde murmured. 
"Come on." 

Grabbing Gwen's hand, he dashed 
toward the edge of the carpet. 

"Climb aboard," he directed. ''You 
see how the floor slants here a bit down 
to the door? I'll just give this skate 
a shove, climb on behind, and we'll coast 
down to the door in a jiffy." 

It was a struggle for Gwen to mount 
the skate, and her blue ribbon was 
shredded before she reached the top. 
By that time Clyde was bracing his 
shoulder against the left rear wheel of 
the skate, wisely gauging it as the one 
most likely to be set in motion. 

Straining, his muscles bulging with 
effort, Clyde pushed. The skate moved 
slowly . . . then gathered speed. It 
began to roll down the incline. 

Clyde clambered aboard at a trot, 
swinging up just as the skate gathered 
momentum. They whirled down to- 
ward the open door. 

"We'll go right through," Clyde ex- 
ulted. "Right down the hall outside! 
And then " 

The black shape loomed before them 
even as he spoke. The black sabre- 
tooth, twenty feet tall — eyes glaring 
green fire, jowls slavering for the kill, 
yellow fangs gaping, claws raised to 
rend and destroy ... It was the cat! 

A single bound carried it through 
the doorway. It paused, hissed, and 
then bore down upon the two figures 
crouching on the flat top of the moving 
roller-skate. 

"Quick ! " yelled Clyde. "Jump off ! " 

Gwen obeyed. Clyde didn't move. 
The skate rolled directly towards the 
oncoming cat. Clyde saw it raise a 
paw, ready to rake him off as the skate 
passed. He crouched low as the paw 
swooped down. 

He felt the shaggy blanket of fur 
brush his back and twisted to one side. 


The cat had missed! 

And now the skate had carried him 
beyond. He had almost reached the 
door. The black cat whirled. A single 
bound brought it forward. Another 
leap and it would be upon him. 

^LYDE slipped from the moving 
skate, eyes roving frantically 
around the enormous room. 

Then he spied it, scarcely three inches 
away — a long green blade with a sharp 
point. 

A fallen needle from the Christmas 
tree! 

But it was a weapon. Clyde grasped 
it and rose to face the charging cat. 
The gigantic head rose above him, and 
the huge jaws yawned. A paw swept 
out. 

Clyde thrust the sharp point of the 
pine-needle upwards. It pricked the 
cat's paw. The feline yowled and with- 
drew its claws. Then it leaped. 

Clyde felt, rather than saw it soar 
over his head. The wind grazed his 
hair. And now, in a single instant, the 
great cat was behind him. The black 
bulk of its body moved down on him. 
A ranking claw thrust out. Clyde 
jabbed with his weapon. 

Quick as lightning, the other paw 
came down. The pine-needle was 
brushed from his hand, and a numbing 
shock traveled up his arm. 

Clyde stooped to pick up the needle. 
It was broken — he was weaponless! 
Now he was ready prey, and so was 
Gwen. 

And the cat charged. 

There was no escape this time. Clyde 
darted to one side, dodged. The cat 
landed on its forepaws a good foot away. 
But as it landed, its long black tail 
coiled out in a lashing blow. 

Clyde felt it strike his knees from 
behind, felt it coil around his waist as 
he fell. Trapped, he waited as the cat 


IT'S A SMALL WORLD 


33 


'turned, with out-flexed paws, and 
launched itself at his throat — 

The blackness bore down upon him 
and he felt the hot breath of the gaping 
mouth as the fangs ripped towards his 
head. 

CHAPTER V 

The Wreck of the Number Nine 

^pHE fangs never reached their goal. 

As Clyde prepared himself for that 
final stab of blinding pain, the darkness 
seemed to lift from before him. 

It did lift — for a hand came out of 
the air and grasped the black cat by the 
scruff of the neck. 

"Scat!" thundered a voice. 

Clyde lay there looking up as Roger 
picked up the feline and carried it from 
the room. Roger closed the door and 
returned. 

"Tried to hurt my playthings," mum- 
bled the boy. He stared down at Clyde. 

"But how did you two get out of the 
block-house?" he asked. 

Clyde shrugged his tiny shoulders in 
reply. 

"You were trying to get away, 
weren't you " Roger accused. "You 
tried to hide from me! Maybe I'd bet- 
ter hang you up for safe-keeping while 
I finish breakfast." 

Roger suited his actions to the words. 
He stooped down and Clyde rose on his 
palm. A stride carried the boy over to 
where Gwen lay. She tumbled into the 
moist, slippery surface of Roger's hand 
and clung to Clyde as they swayed to- 
wards the tree. 

Roger adjusted the ends of the blue 
ribbon and the yellow ribbon. Once 
more the two mannikins dangled like 
ornaments on the great Christmas tree. 

Clyde groaned inwardly as he found 
himself right back where he had 
started. Once more the door — escape 


— freedom — all were miles away. 

Rogers smiled down on the two hang- 
ing figures. 

"Be quiet, now," he said. "I'll come 
back as soon as I finish eating." 

His footsteps thundered from the 
room. Once again there was silence. 

Clyde turned his head. Gwen smiled 
at him bravely. His heart wrenched as 
he realized the effort she was making to 
appear cheerful. 

But suddenly her assumed optimism 
faded. "Oh, darling," she sighed. "I 
guess it's hopeless. We'll be here for- 
ever. And " 

Her dainty little body shook in a 
sudden spasm of sobbing. 

"What's the matter, honey?" Clyde 
whispered. 

"Oh — it's so terrible! And I'm all 
scratched and bruised, and I'm prac- 
tically starving," 

Clyde forced a smile. "Good for you 
to go without food," he told her. "You 
always said you wanted to reduce." 

"Reduce I" A fresh burst of tears 
coursed down her doll-like cheeks. 

Clyde frowned as he realized the 
ironic cruelty of his remark. She was 
reduced indeed! 

Then his eyes lighted on a vast ob- 
ject hanging directly before him. 

"Cheer up, small fry," he called. "I 
think I can get you a bite to eat, any- 
way." 

11TE BEGAN to pump his legs out- 
ward, swinging his body forward 
and back. The movement caused the 
ribbon by which he was suspended to 
swing in a slow arc. Clyde, at the bot- 
tom of this pendulum, swung forward 
with increasing speed. Soon he was 
approaching the great white object with 
every swing. 

It hung there, like a ten-foot snow- 
ball, right in his path. His tiny fingers 
clawed at its rough, corrugated surface. 


34 


AMAZING STORIES 


Nothing happened. On the next swing 
he dug into it deeply. There was a 
crackling sound, and a huge lump of 
the white substance broke off in his 
hands. He swung back and ceased his 
movements. 

Slowly, he broke the white lump and 
extended a section of it to Gwen. She 
could just reach out and grab it. 

"Go ahead and eat," Clyde told her. 
"Lucky for us there's a popcorn ball on 
the tree." 

The popcorn was nourishing. Clyde 
had never thought two people could 
make a satisfying meal out of a single 
kernel from a popcorn ball, but this 
was ample to still his hunger. It didn't 
take much to fill a tiny stomach. A 
little condensed milk, now — 

As Gwen nibbled her popcorn, Clyde 
abandoned his fancies and concentrated 
on another train of thought. 

He had swung outward and back to 
reach the popcorn ball. Then he had 
stopped. Suppose he kept it up? Sup- 
pose he swung in wider arcs until the 
ribbon on the branch above him loos- 
ened? 

He might fall, plunge to his death 
on the jagged pine-splinters below. Still, 
it was a chance. And it was his only 
chance. 

Thankful that Gwen was occupied 
only with her food, he began to rock 
cautiously once more. Soon he swung 
out to the popcorn ball again; then be- 
yond it. He swooped forward and 
back. His head reeled, he grew dizzy, 
but he could feel a movement on the 
ribbon over his head. 

He plummeted up and down, up and 
down. Now Gwen saw him, and she 
screamed as he rocketed past. Clyde 
was giddy, breathless. The world spun 
around him — the glittering constella- 
tion of tree ornaments whirled. 

And then — the ribbon came free ! 

With a gasp, Clyde took the fall. He 


plunged down, down — shooting through 
interstices between the bristling 
branches. Far below him he saw the 
huge, shining bulk of a crystal globe. 

An ornament — he was heading 
straight towards it! In an instant he 
would crash, the ornament would shat- 
ter, its jagged splinter pierce his body 
and hurl his bleeding carcass to the floor 
below. 

Clyde's arms flailed wildly. The 
deadly polished surface rushed up to 
meet him, and then his right hand found 
a hold. 

With an arm-wrenching lurch, his 
descent halted. Clyde clung desperate- 
ly to the strand of tinsel that sustained 
his weight. For a long moment he could 
only pant and wheeze. Slowly he drew 
himself up to a perch on the tinsel. 

"Clyde, are you all right?" 

Gwen's voice came from above. She 
hung about forty feet higher — in reali- 
ty, about fifteen inches over his head. 

"Of course I am," Clyde answered. 
"Hold on and I'll climb up and get you 
loose." 

j^OW it was easy to mount the 
branches, picking footholds and 
hanging on to tinsel strands and candy- 
cane lengths. In a very few minutes 
Clyde had crawled to a niche above 
Gwen's head and slowly loosened the 
strand of blue ribbon. 

"Grab that branch tip," he directed. 
"I'll get you free in a moment." 

The operation was swiftly accom- 
plished. 

"Now what?" Gwen voiced the ques- 
tion as Clyde joined her on the branch. 
"You aren't going to make me climb 
down to the floor, are you? I get dizzy 
just looking at it." 

Clyde shook his head. 

"No sense in trying the floor again," 
he said. "Too dangerous, and it's too 
far to the door. Besides, once in the 


IT'S A SMALL WORLD 


3.3 


hall, we'd need to get the outer door 
open as well." 

"Could we gft to a telephone?" 

"Not likely," Clyde decided. "Be- 
sides, how'd we ever get the receiver off 
the hook? It would be an engineering 
problem to dial a number, and I doubt 
if our voices would carry. Too much 
danger of detection, anyway. No — 
that's out." 

"Then what can we do?" 

"Just keep calm. Look, we have 
French windows right in back of us. 
And I've a hunch the one on our left is 
open a bit. I've felt a breeze for some 
time. If that window is ajar, we can 
slip directly outside. All we need do is 
climb around the side of the tree here 
and slide down to the window ledge. 
Can you crawl?" 

"I can do anything if it means get- 
ting out of here," Gwen declared. Her 
eyes flashed. Clyde gave her a grin. 
The girl had spirit and courage. 

"All right. Better not waste time, 
then. The brat is likely to show up at 
any minute. Suppose we swing down 
this light-cord?" 

Clyde pointed at one of the green 
strands linking a string of tree lights. 

"Just swing across it and move 
down." he said. "But watch out for 
the lights. They're hot." 

The tiny figures began their journey. 
Time and time again they clambered 
across branches to avoid the burning in- 
candescence of a Christmas tree bulb. 

"Swing across that tinsel," Clyde 
grunted. "We're making progress." 

Gwen, despite cruelly-smarting hands 
—giggled. 

"What is it?" Clyde turned his head. 

"I can't help it! You look so cute in 
your blue ribbon, swinging along the 
branches. Just like Tarzan of the 
Apes." 

"He does, does he?" 

The voice came from behind them. 


Both Gwen and Clyde turned their 
heads quickly back towards the room. 

Standing before the tree, still on tip- 
toe from his stealthy entrance, was 
Roger. The boy wore a frown of dis- 
pleasure. 

"At it again?" he said. "Trying to 
get away I" 

There was no hiding-place, no escape. 

Advancing quickly, Roger reached 
forward and plucked Gwen from the 
tree. 

"Let her alone!" Clyde yelled. 

"Huh!" grunted the child. "I ought 
to throw her away." He made a gesture 
as if to hurl Gwen's body to the ground, 
and Clyde groaned. 

But the gesture was not completed. A 
smile appeared on the vast bulk of 
Roger's face. 

"I've got a better idea," he said. "I'll 
really punish you both." 

LIE TURNED his back and swiftly 
carried Gwen across the room. 
Clyde clambered up a branch and 
strained his eyes, trying to follow the 
boy's movements. 

Roger stooped down on the far side 
of the room. His hands groped and 
fumbled before him, but his back hid 
Gwen from view. 

What was he doing to her? 

Abruptly, Roger rose. His body still 
blocking the view on the far side, he 
approached Clyde with empty hands. 
Clyde couldn't dodge the searching fin- 
gers. 

His ribs were crushed between thumb 
and forefinger as Roger carried him 
down to the floor. 

"In you go," said Roger. 

Clyde felt himself being lifted to an 
iron stand. He glanced down. 

Roger had placed him on the cab 
of his toy train's locomotive! 

The locomotive rested on the wide 
track that ran the full square bordering 


36 


AMAZING STORIES 


the room against the walls. 

Clyde stood in the iron cab of the 
engine. It was a Lionel special model 
—the "New York Central," to be exact, 
with a Hudson-type locomotive. Clyde 
knew. He had sold them in the toy- 
shop. 

He gazed at the shining track stretch- 
ing ahead, and at the curve near the 
wall. 

Why had Roger put him here? 

"I'm going to punish you," said the 
boy. "The way they did it in the old 
movies." 

"What do you mean?" Clyde 
shouted. 

"Look and see." 

Far above, the child's arm extended 
across the room, 
Clyde stared. 

Half-way around the circle, on the 
track directly opposite, lay Gwen's 
writhing body. 

Roger had tied her to the track. 

"Notice how I did it?" asked the pre- 
cocious little monster. "I've tied her 
to only one of the rails. Only her head 
extends between. If I laid her directly 
across she'd be electrocuted when I 
switch on the transformer. 

"As it is, we'll do it like the movies. 
I'll start the train and you'll run over 
her." 

Roger laughed. It was a cruel laugh, 
not at all boyish. Clyde shook his head. 
How could he appeal to this heartless, 
inhuman creature? 

"But you don't want to kill her," he 
stammered. "A helpless girl " 

"You're my toys," Roger snapped. 
"I can play with you any way I want." 

Abruptly the boy turned. He squatted 
in the corner, next to the black bulk of 
the transformer. 

There was a whirring hum. And sud- 
denly, Clyde felt the train-wheels turn. 
The engine was moving beneath his 
feet! 


Slowly, the locomotive gathered 
speed. Clyde stared out of the cab. 
He was rushing down the rails, heading 
for the bend. In miniature time-scale, 
he was plunging forward at about sixty 
miles an hour. The engine would take 
this curve, take the next, go down the 
straightaway, and in the middle — deca- 
pitate Gwen! 

^jpHE locomotive lurched as it 
whizzed around the first curve. 
Clyde braced himself. He couldn't 
jump. The second curve loomed ahead. 
The Hudson type was speedy. A few 
seconds more, now — 

Roger was at the transformer, gen- 
erating power. Powerl 

Clyde saw Gwen's body far down the 
tracks. The locomotive rushed with 
deadly swiftness. 

Clyde gulped. He had the clue, if 
there was still time. He turned to the 
cab. Yes, this was the Hudson type. 
A miniature poker stood in the tender, 
and next to it was the fire-box door. If 
that door was opened — 

He tore a strand from the blue rib- 
bon about his waist and yanked the tiny 
poker free. He wrapped the handle of 
the poker with the ribbon and jerked 
at the fire-box door. 

Peering out the window of the cab 
he saw Gwen only a little way ahead. 
The train rumbled on. 

Gasping, Clyde jammed the poker 
through the open door. The end caught. 
It had to catch, make contact. 

It did. 

Clyde knew his locomotives. The 
poker would short on one of the motor 
terminals against the frame. 

The result was spectacular. 

The locomotive halted with a lurch, 
just a few inches from Gwen's tiny 
form. 

At the same moment came a puff of 
smoke from the transformer, and Roger 


IT'S A SMALL WORLD 


37 


fell backwards in a cloud of acrid 
fumes. 

CHAPTER VI 
Out of the Mouths of Babes 

TT WAS the work of an instant to 

jump down and release Gwen. Clyde 
yanked the twine free and helped her 
to her feet. 

"Come on," he whispered. 

Over in the corner, Roger's coughing 
spasm had subsided, and now tears 
came in a surprising cascade. The boy 
was crying. The sheer, unexpected 
shock of the short-circuit had fright- 
ened him. Gwen turned and stared at 
him across the room. 

"Gwen — let's go!" Clyde tugged at 
her shoulder. 

Gwen tossed her black curls. "No," 
she said. "I'm going to talk to Roger." 

"Are you crazy?" stormed the red- 
headed young man. 

For answer, Gwen began to stride to- 
wards the looming bulk of the boy in 
the corner. 

"Gwen — come back I" 

She neither turned nor paused. In 
sheer amazement, Clyde watched her 
as she reached the crying child and 
deliberately tugged at his sleeve. In a 
moment she was crawling up his arm. 

Clyde shuddered. 

She sat there, perched on the boy's 
shoulder ! 

Roger looked up. Abruptly, his tears 
ceased falling. Gwen sat on her strange 
perch and gently patted his neck with 
one tiny hand. 

Roger stared at her. He smiled. 

"Blow your nose," said Gwen. 
"You're a sight 1" 

Roger blushed, fumbled in his. pocket. 

"Use your other hand," the girl com- 
manded. "You're likely to shake me 
off." 


Roger obeyed without hesitation. 

"There, that's better," she com- 
mented. "Now, young man, I'd like to 
have a talk with you. First of all, you'd 
better apologize for what you jusj, did." 

Roger stared down at her. His blush, 
deepened. Then he looked away at 
the wall. 

"All right," he mumbled. "I'm sorry 
I tried to kill you. I guess I didn't un- 
derstand that you are human, too." 

Gwen shook her head. 

"Don't you know any better?" she 
chided. "You're a pretty bright-look- 
ing boy, it seems to me. Hasn't your 
mother ever told you not to do such 
things?" 

Roger stared at the wall more in- 
tently than ever. 

"I — I have no mother." 

"Well, what about your father, 
then?" 

"My father's dead, too. I'm an or- 
phan." 

Gwen frowned. "But that man who 
brought you to the toyshop — Simon 
Mallot. Isn't he your father?" 

"No. He adopted me when I was a 
baby." 

"When you were a baby?" 
"Yes. After he killed my mother and 
father." 

Roger's voice did not tremble or alter 
as he spoke the words. His tone was 
unemotional. 

"Simon Mallot killed your parents?'" 
There was horror enough in Gwen's 
voice. 

"Yes. He was in love with my 
mother many years ago. She wouldn't 
marry him, because of his size. So after 
I was born, he killed her." 

/"~1WEN was silent, but only for a 
moment. To CJyije, sjie seemed to 
be driving at something. She had taken 
psychological advantage el the boy, and 
now she was cleverly pressing that ad- 


38 


AMAZING STORIES 


vantage. She sat there maternally, pos- 
sessively — the eternal woman engaged 
in her eternal problem of mastering 
man. 

"How did Mallot kill her?" asked 
Gwen. 

Rogert did not hesitate over an an- 
swer. The words came quickly. 

"He did it with the dolls. He made 
dolls and baptized them and then drove 
pins into their hearts. He's promised to 
show me how, soon. He's a wizard, you 
know." 

"I didn't know." Gwen was striving 
to keep calm. 

"That's why he adopted me. He's 
going to make me his apprentice. He'll 
teach me all he has learned about sor- 
cery. He says that since my appear- 
ance is normal, I can be a greater wizard 
than he is, if I'm properly trained." 

The boy spoke as though becoming 
a sorcerer's apprentice was the most 
natural course in the world. Gwen tried 
to match his nonchalance. 

"Do you like that idea?" he asked. 

Roger frowned. "No — not exactly," 
he confessed. "There are some things 
he wants me to do that give me night- 
mares, and I won't do them. 

"I like to play with my toys here, but 
he is always mating me take lessons in 
his laboratory. And when he finally 
lets me play, he gives me toys I don't 
like. I won't keep them here." 

"No?" 

"There's a book he has . . . and the 
pictures in it move. They move like 
people, and they do strange things. It 
makes your head ache to watch them, 
but he wants me to study it. 

"Then we play games, sometimes. 
Not with marbles or anything like that, 
but with little houses and boats and 
things made out of wax. And he makes 
me recite pieces in Latin. I get all 
crawly inside sometimes at the way 
they sound. When I say them right, 


the shadows change on the wall, and 
once I saw the wafls move. 

"Next year he's going to take me to a 
meeting. They call it a coven, and I 
must meet someone there and sign a 
book in blood. Does it hurt when they 
prick your finger and take blood? 

"I hope it doesn't. Because I don't 
want to go anyway. I wish he wouldn't 
make me do those things." 

Gwen was white-faced, shaken. The 
picture she had formed from these chil- 
dish revelations was ghastly in its im- 
plications. 

"He won't let me play with other 
kids," said the boy. "He keeps me 
locked up here all the tfrne. Once in a 
while, for a special treat, he lets me 
play with my regular reaUy-and-truly 
toys in this room. 

"I studied hard last month, so he 
promised to give me a present. Any- 
thing I wanted. And last night, in the 
toyshop, I asked for you. That's how 
I got you." 

Clyde had approached Roger's feet. 
Now he spoke. 

"How did you know that Simon Mal- 
lot could — give — us to you?" he asked. 

"He can do anything," said the boy, 
gravely. "Much more than this. He's 
a sorceror. And I'll be one too." The 
boy sighed. "But I don't want to be, 
really. Besides, I'm afraid when I grow 
up I might get too big like he is, too." 

"How did he get to be so big?" asked 
Gwenn. 

"Just glandular abnormality, he 
says," the boys answered. 

TT WAS fantastic to hear such words 
from the lips of a seven-year-old 
child. But then, the whole affair was 
unearthly. 

"He's working on hormone extracts 
now," Roger confided. "That's how I 
knew he would be able to shrink you. 
When I asked to have Gwen for a doll, 


IT'S A SMALL WORLD 


39 


he knew what I meant. And he did it. 
Because that hormone formula is won- 
derful." 

"Yes," said Clyde, eagerly. "Can 
you explain it a little more than that, 
Roger?" 

"Well, I don't know. He started 
years ago, trying to experiment on 
something to use on himself — some- 
things that might bring him down to a 
normal size. Then he must have hit on 
something off the trail with his reduc- 
tion formula. Because the drug he per- 
fected overdoes the job. Things get 
very tiny if you aren't careful." 

The boy spoke gravely, but Clyde 
hung on to every word. 

"There are lots of specimens upstairs 
in his laboratory," Roger volunteered. 
"But I guess he's never used it on hu- 
man beings until last night. I just 
begged him to give me Gwen for a toy, 
and he'd promised me, so he had to do 
it. But I'm sorry I tried to kill you," 
he concluded. 

Clyde took over. "You should be," 
he scolded. "And what do you think it 
feels like to be two inches tall? How 
would you like it?" 

Roger hung his head. 

"We don't want to be this way all our 
lives," Gwen sighed. "How can we get 
out of this?" 

"You two are in love with each 
other?" Roger's eyes sparkled. "Gee, 
it's like a story, isn't it? And you're 
trapped here and everything?" 

"You needn't be so enthusiastic about 
it," observed Clyde, bitterly. 

"But it's exciting. And maybe I 
can help you." 

That was the opening Gwen was 
waiting for. "Yes," she said, quickly. 
"By all means. You could phone for 
the police " 

"No goodl" Clyde interrupted. "If 
Simon Mallot found the boy phoning, 
he'd know. He'd hide us away and 


punish Roger. Besides, we've got to 
do something about our size." 

"Yes," said the child, eagerly. 
"That's what I mean. I can find the 
antidote for you, perhaps." 

"Antidote?" Clyde seized upon the 
word. "There is an antidote?" 

"Yes. A sort of by-product or anti- 
toxin you get when you distill the for- 
mula. He keeps a bottle of it in the 
laboratory." 

"Could — could you get it for us, do 
you think?" 

Roger's face clouded. "Maybe. I 
don't know." 

"What do you mean? It's a mat- 
ter of life or death." 

"I know. But — honest, I'm afraid 
to go up there, though. It's a horrible 
place." 

Gwen patted his shoulder. 

"There, now. Don't be afraid. I'll 
come along with you." 

Surprisingly enough, the suggestion 

did the trick. Roger beamed. 

"Well, if you two will come along 
>> 

"Sure we will. It's safe, isn't it?" 
Clyde answered. 

"Yes. He's asleep now, in the left 
wing. I can get the bottle. Just a few 
drops on the end of a pin will work, I 
think. But you'll come with me?" 

"Right." Clyde took command. 
"Just slip us into your jacket now. 
Then head for those stairs. We're go- 
ing to the laboratory." 

CHAPTER VII 
The Devil's Toyshop 

JJP THE dark stairs, down the long 
hall, and through the outer cham- 
bers—Roger tiptoed cautiously into the 
weird world beyond the laboratory 
doors. 

Gwen and Clyde clung to the edge of 


40 


AMAZING STORIES 


his jacket pocket and peered out into 
the realms of nightmare. 

Here in the vast, sky-lighted room, 
science and sorcery had met and mated 
—to produce a hellish amalgam. 

Gleaming white laboratory tables, 
modern as tomorrow, bore a host of 
ghastly objects straight from medieval 
myths. 

Bell-jars filled with the root of fabled 
mandrake; trays of herbs and powdered 
distillates ground from the bones oi 
animals and corpses; all the parapher- 
nalia of mantic mummery was here. 

Oh trie shelves the black books mould- 
ered, iron-hasped tomes with crumbling 
yellow pages illumined with Gothic let- 
tering of another day. Clyde read exotic 
titles in Latin — De Vermis Mysteriis, 
and the unspeakable Necronomicon of 
Abdul Alhazred. 

Glass cabinets guarded instruments 
and laboratory machines; a switchboard 
towered incongruously beside a mum- 
my-case; a zodiacal chart lettered in 
Greek stood next to the latest model of 
an X-ray unit. 

Bunsen burners and powdered bat's 
blood, test tubes and the hearts of 
toads, hypodermic needles and corpse- 
fat candles — all in a gargantuan jumble 
before the eyes of Gwen'and Clyde. 

The room was filled with evidences 
of thaumaturgy. A blue chalk tracing 
of a pentagon still covered a part of the 
floor. A pile of smouldering inoertse 
fumed sullenly in a covered brazier near 
the further wall. 

But all this was as nothing to the 
sights Roger pointed out. 

The chid, with his terrifying mix- 
ture of normal boyishness and hideous 
familiarity with forbidden things, 
wasted no time in directing the atten- 
tion of his tiny guests to a strange spec- 
tacle. 

A tier of glass cubicles stood along 
one of the big tables. At first glance 


they appeared to be a row of rectangu- 
lar aquariums — but there was no water 
inside, and no fish. 

Still, the glass prisons contained liv- 
ing forms. 

"Look!" prompted Roger, moving 
closer. The two little humans gazed 
down at an incredible spectacle. 

In one glass compartment, a rat 
padded ceaselessly to and fro, red eyes 
glaring through the transparent walls 
of its prison. 

"Why, it's the right size!" Gwen ex- 
claimed. Suddenly a hand went to her 
mouth in a gesture of horrified realiza- 
tion. 

For the rat was the right size in pro- 
portion to her present state. But in 
reality, the rat was a shrunken creature 
— a living rat the size of an ant! 

In the next compartment a guinea 
pig squatted; a common laboratory 
guinea pig, no bigger than a human fin- 
ger! 

Beside it, on the left, was a tiny 
black object that mewed piteously and 
clawed at *e glass as they approached. 

"A black cat," whispered Clyde. 'A 
black cat the size of a baby mouse." 

"He injected fhem with the reduction 
formula," Roger told the two. "These 
were his first successes. That cat is the 
mother of the black cat downstairs. At 
first, when it was just a kitten, it seemed 
to know what he had done and clawed 
and spit at him. Now the cat is grown 
and doesn't remember. He calls it his 
'familiar'. He says all wizards have 
familiars." 

Gwen shuddered. "I don't like it 
here," she murmured. "Let's get out." 

Clyde nudged the boy's chest with a 
diminutive fist. "Yes," he urged. 
"Where's the antidpte? Let's get it and 
leave before he wakes up." 

"All right." Roger moved quickly. 
The shrunken humans tumbled back 
into his pocket. 


IT'S A SMALL WORLD 


41 


"Here," he said, reaching into a 
cabinet set next to a microscope. 
"Here's where he keeps the bottle." 

TJIS hand emerged grasping a vial of 
colorless fluid, stoppered by a 

cork. 

"The needles are on a tray," he said. 
"I'll take one and we'll sneak back 
downstairs." 

"Good," Clyde muttered. "Quickly, 
now!" 

Roger moved quickly — then halted. 

A sound rumbled from below. 

A sound crashed through the corri- 
dor, to shatter the tiny eardrums of the 
imprisoned humans with the knell of 
death. 

"He's coming!" gasped the boy. 

"Hide us!" Clyde commanded. 

"But where?" 

"Set us down on the table." 

Roger lifted them free. They landed 
on one of the big laboratory tables. 

"Where shall we go?" Gwen panted. 

Clyde gazed around, quickly calcu- 
lating. He grasped her arm. 

"Over here," he beckoned. "Climb 
inside that skull." 

To their left the grisly object loomed 
—a yellowed skull, big as a house con- 
trasted to their present size. 

The great hollow eye-sockets stared 
their eternal eyeless stare. The grin- 
ning, fanged jaws leered their eternal 
mirthless leer. 

"Through the jaw," Clyde panted. 
"Hurry!" 

Crawling inside a human skull— the 
journey was a nightmare. But it meant 
escape from a more hideous reality out- 
side. 

For Simon Mallot entered the room. 

The giant wore black, and black was 
his frown, black the glitter in his pierc- 
ing eyes as he recognized Roger's pres- 
ence in the room. 

"What are you doing up here?" he 


demanded, scowling at the boy. 

"Just playing," Roger answered 
slowly, mastering with an effort the 
urge to tremble. 

Clyde and Gwen, peering through the 
eye-sockets of the skull trembled 
freely. 

"Playing, eh?" The tall man stared 
down at the little boy with a kindly 
smile. 

"I thought you didn't like it here in 
the laboratory," he observed. 

"I — I guess I've changed my mind." 

"That is gratifying news." The 
wizard shook his gray-maned head. 
His unlined face was bland. "But tell 
me, Roger— how did you leave your 
little playmates downstairs?" 

"Why, all right, I guess. I hung them 
back on the tree." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes." 

"That's odd." Simon Mallot grinned. 
"You see, I've just been inspecting the 
Christmas tree. And they seem to have 
disappeared." 

"Really?" The boy's self-possession 
was remarkable. He'd learned a lot 
from his monstrous teacher — but not 
enough. 

For Simon Mallott's grin broadened 
unpleasantly. 

"You don't seem to be very upset 
about their absence," he purred. "Per- 
haps you don't like them any more. 
Perhaps you're tired of them." 

"No — no, I think they're wonderful 
gifts. I want to keep them always." 

"And yet when I tell you they've dis- 
appeared, you show no surprise. Can it 
be, Roger, that you are not surprised? 
Can it be that you know where they 
are? Can it be that they are here — right 
now — in this room?" 

CIMON MALLOT towered above the 
child, his great hands clenched. 
"Of course not," gasped the boy. "No 


42 


AMAZING STORIES 


" His hands fumbled nervously at 

his jacket. A bulge in the pocket caught 
the wizard's eye. 

One great paw darted forward con- 
vulsively. There was a ripping sound 
as the huge fingers tore away part of 
tlie jacket, pocket and all. 

Simon Malldt held up the vial ef re- 
duction-antidote. 

"This is not a plaything," he mur- 
mured, "Why did you take it?" 

Roger was silent. 

The giant nodded. "Shall I tell you 
why? ;> he whispered. "I think I know. 
You have been talking to your toys. 
They have given you bad advice. They 
have corrupted you, Roger- — corrupted 
you with stupid, human chatter. Isn't 
that true?" 

The child did not answer. 

"They asked you to steal this and 
restore them to normal size, didn't 
they?" 

Still Roger kept silence. 

"Fm disappointed in yon," observed 
Simon Mallot. "Haven't I trained you? 
Haven't I taught you to be calm, unemo- 
tional scientifically detached? They're 
stupid little pawns, filled with petty 
human desires, Roger. Not worth 
noticing. Fit only to be toys. That's 
what people are, Roger. Toys. Pup- 
pets. 

"I've given you tiny ones to play with 
now. But as you grow older, I'll show 
you, how to pjay with humans without 
the necessity of reducing their size. I 
can turn the whole earth into a play- 
thing fos you, Roger. 

"You have fafied me, and I must 
teach you once again. But I'm willing 
to start over anew. I will put this vial 
away, you will tell me where your toys 
are hidden, and we'll just forget this 
little incident. Is it a bargain?" 

The giant beamed benevolently. 

And for the first time, the boy spoke. 

"No!" said Roger. "No— I won't 


tell you! You'll kill them, that's what 
you'll do. I won't listen to you — you're 

a monster, an ogre " 

Simon Mallot laughed, but his eyes 
blazed. 

"I see," he muttered. "Yes, I see. 
They have corrupted you, indeed. Al- 
ready their stupid viewpoints have 
changed your childish outlook. Now 
I'm an ogre, am I? You're talking like 
a character in a fairy tale. 

"Very well, Roger. You're not going 
to be of any use to me in the future. I 
can see that. My work has been wasted. 
And so — if your fairy tale imagery is 
to be carried out, I'm willing. 

"From now on, I'm what you called 
me. An ogre. And you're just a little 
boy. A little boy in an ogre's castle. 
Remember your fairy tales, Roger. Do 
you know what ogres do to little boys?" 

r J , HE last words ended suddenly as 
the massive arms encircled the 
child's body. Roger screamed once, then 
subsided as Simon Mallot bore him to 
the table and began to strap him down 
efficiently with strips of gauze. 

"I'm going to let you join your new 
friends," he whispered, bending close to 
the child's face. "You can go back into 
the miniature universe where petty hu- 
mans belong, since you're not fit to be a 
titan, either physically- or mentally. 
Maybe you'll learn something. At 
least," he chuckled, "at least, I can 
keep you under my thumb this way." 

The giant turned from the bound boy. 
"Where's the needle?" he grumbled. "It 
should be next to the formula powder 
here, in the tray." 

Clyde could have answered that ques- 
tion easily. 

For midway in the conversation be- 
tween the tall man and the child, Clyde 
slipped carefully through the left eye- 
socket of his hiding place and tiptoed 


IT'S A SMALL WORLD 


43 


cautiously along the table. He moved 
fr»ni beaker to retort unobserved, until 
at least he reached the spot where the 
jar of yellowish powder lay — the jar 
Roger had pointed out as containing 
the reduction formula. 

"Only a few grains of the powder on 
the end of a needle," Clyde remem- 
bered. 

And there, in the glass tray, was a 
needle. 

As the wizard bound the boy, Clyde 
tugged the needle free. In his arms it 
was a heavy four-foot spear. But he 
raised it, drove the point into the yel- 
lowish powder until a few granules clung 
to the end. 

Then he was ready. He staggered 
under the burden of the heavy needle as 
he made his way from behind one ob- 
ject to another. Gwen watched his 
progress with fascinated horror, but 
Simon Mallot did not see him. 

Closer and closer he came — stealing 
along to the edge of the table. 

Now Mallot turned and groped in the 
tray for his tiny needle. 

"Where is the cursed thing?" he 
growled. 

Clyde, poised behind a retort on the 
edge of the table, stared up, up to the 
incalculable height where the wizard's 
pale white face loomed and leered. 

The great globed eyes burned down. 
The red lips writhed. And a groping 
finger swept along the table. 

Clyde braced himself, held the needle 
pointed out, and then he ran. His run- 
ning plunge carried him toward the 
wizard's white, spatulate finger. 

Clyde charged with his spear — and 
then Simon Mallot saw, stared down 
at the incredibly tiny figure racing to- 
wards his hand with outthrust needle. 

"So! " he roared. 

His hand swept forward, a wall of 
flesh to sweep Clyde's puny body into 
oblivion. 


But Clyde didn't falter. He held the 
needle up, felt it strike home as the 
hand came down. Then the white and 
bony horror of the hand closed over 
him, to smother and crush, and Clyde's 
world fell away. . . . 

CHAPTER VIII 
Reduc+io Ad Absurdum 

"/"•LYDE! Wake up, darlingl" 

Gwen's voice came somewhere 
through the mists. Clyde tried to locate 
it. He succeeded, with an effort, and 
blinked his way to consciousness. Clyde 
looked up at Gwen, who pillowed his 
head in her lap as she bent over him 
on the table's edge. 

"Are you all right?" the girl mur- 
mured. 

"Guess so." Clyde sat up and rubbed 
his aching shoulder. Abruptly he 
stiffened, pushed her away. 

"MaliotI" he snapped. "Where is 
he?" 

"Down there." 

Gwen's tiny finger indicated the floor 
far below. 

"You jabbed him with the needle," 
she said. "He tried to knock you off 
the table, but the drug took hold. He 
begin to shrink immediately." 

Clyde peered over the table edge. On 
the floor, far below, lay a tangled heap 
of clothing. Mallot's garments. Lying 
across the bottom of Mallot's robe lay a 
tiny white figure, scarcely three inches 
long. It represented all that remained 
of the giant's seven-foot bulk. 

"He's still unconscious," Gwen said. 

"Good. Now, our first job is to get 
Roger free." 

Clyde rose and began walking across 
the table. Gwen followed. Roger lay 
strapped to another table a few feet 
away — but a shelf stretched in a natural 
bridge between. 


44 


AMAZING STORIES 


"Roger, are you all right?" called the 
redheaded man. 

"Yes — but get me loose," said the 
boy, through trembling lips. "Quick, 
before he wakes up." 

"He can't harm you," Gwen remind- 
ed the child. "After all, he's only three 
inches tall. Just a little bigger than we 
are." 

The crossed along the shelf and soon 
descended to the table beside Roger's 
bound body. Clyde had lugged a needle 
with him. 

"You — you aren't going to inject any- 
thing into me?" the boy asked. 

"Certainly not; But this may help 
to pry away the knots. He's got the 
gauze around you pretty tightly." 

Indeed, Roger's body was swathed in 
cloth ropes, and the knots would tax 
the ingenuity of any number of two-inch 
high Boy Scouts. 

Nevertheless, Clyde and Gwen set to 
work, tugging away at the recalcitrant 
cloth, shredding bit by bit with the 
needle. It was a laborious task. They 
had scarcely managed to sever a single 
strand in a full fifteen minutes of effort. 

"Maybe we'd better get the growth 
formula first," Clyde sighed. "He left 
the bottle of autitoxin on the table over 
there, I think. If we could use that and 
regain our normal size once more, the 
rest would be easy." 

It was a good idea — but Clyde wasn't 
the only one who thought so. For at 
that moment, Gwen tugged frantically 
at his arm. 

"Look!" she gasped. "He's come 
to!" 

CIMON MALLOT had indeed recov- 
ered consciousness. Clyde turned to 
stare at the tiny figure — a little white- 
skinned mouse, cautiously clambering 
up the rungs of a chair. Mallot was 
climbing to the table top where the anti- 
dote rested. Even as they stared, he 


gained the seat of the chair, ran swiftly 
across it, and started to crawl up the 
wicker back, hand over hand. In just a 
minute or so he would reach the vial of 
the precious fluid, and then 

"No you don't!" Clyde shouted. 

Turning, he headed back' across the 
shelf-bridge to the other table. He bore 
the heavy needle as a weapon. Gwen 
followed more cautiously. 

Clyde clattered down the shelf, over- 
turning a jar that stood in the path of 
his flying feet. 

He reached the table-top — and so did 
the wizard. 

Simon Mallot's shrunken visage had 
lost none of its malignancy. The pow- 
erful body of the sorcerer still towered 
— comparatively — over Clyde's frame. 

With swift strides, the miniature 
giant made for the vital vial. 

Levelling his needle as a spear, Clyde 
bore down upon him. 

Mallot looked up and scowled his dis- 
may. He backed away from the small 
bottle. 

Clyde pursued him. If he could pin 
that tiny monster to the table, destroy 
the evil that animated him 

Mallot scurried away. Clyde gained 
on him, poised for the throat. 

And then Mallot spun to his left, ca- 
romed against a small glass beaker. 

The beaker swayed, tipped, and sud- 
denly fell forward. Directly in Clyde's 
path a stream of bubbling acid poured 
forth, smoking and hissing as it churned 
towards his ankles. 

Clyde swerved to one side as the 
deadly stream sizzled its way across the 
table-top. 

Mallot had stopped ahead of him — 
stopped and stooped. He had picked 
up a needle of his own from a tray, and 
now he brandished it above his head. 

A needle in Clyde's hands was a 
spear. Mallot, a larger figure, could use 
it as a sword. 


IT'S A SMALL WORLD 


45 


And use it he did. With a roar he 
charged down upon the young man. 

It was Clyde's turn to back away — 
back and parry the deadly thrusts of the 
glittering blade. The giant was a fencer, 
and he flourished the needle with fatal 
precision. 

Clyde retreated, bringing his needle 
up and down to take the Wows of Mal- 
lot's weapon. But Mallot stabbed and 
struck. The needle whistled past 
Clyde's left ear, then whizzed under 
his armpit. 

And as he went back, Clyde's feet 
struck a solid base. Something hot and 
hissing roared behind him. Parrying 
desperately, he turned. 

Mallot was forcing him — forcing him 
back against the glowing blue flame of a 
Bussen burner I 

The wizard laughed and his sword- 
blade swirled down. Ciyde docked. He 
tried to dodge around the flame, but 
Mallot pressed his advantage. The 
needle flicked out, inexorable, relent- 
less. 

Suddently Mallot raised his weapon 
and brought it down. Clyde felt the 
impact of the blow shiver against his 
own needle. And then it fell from his 
grasp, and rolled to one side. 

He was weaponless! 

JyJ ALLOT bounded in for the kill. 

Clyde crouched against the base 
of the Bunsen burner, felt the searing 
flame just above his neck. He dodged, 
ran around to the further edge of the 
table. A portable siak unit was be- 
yond. He hurtled across a chasm fully 
five inches in extent and landed on the 
sink. 

But the wizard was at his heels. He 
jumped, brandishing his needle. 

Clyde turned, ran along the moist 
sink, and then slipped. 

Too late, he realized his error when 
he saw what boomed before him in the 


sink. Too late to move, he heard the 
roar of mighty waters. 

A waterfall cascaded across his path. 

Mallot thundered behind htm. His 
blade swept out in an arc of shining 
death. 

Clyde jumped, jumped straight at 
the waterfall. 

And went down under the thundering 
avalanche, down to the bottom of the 
sink, gasping and drowning — drowning 
in the flow from a turned-an water 
faucet! 

Mallet's laugh rose in his ears, and 
then Clyde went under. The white wall 
of water enveloped him. He gulped, 
choked, felt his hmgs burn and fill. He 
rose, fighting for breath. The water 
churned around him. His hands gasped 
at a non-existent hold. 

Clyde went down again. The water 
at the bottom of the sink swirled fierce- 
ly, carrying him in its circling eddy 
until he felt himself battered and 
scraped against the bottom of the por- 
celain. 

He rose to his knees, groping his way 
from under the direct impact of the 
faucet flow above. Por a moment he 
stood there, then fell again. 

Once more he gained his feet, and 
this time he managed to blunder blindly 
to one side. 

He stood in water up to his waist, 
but he was clear of the main stream. 
He looked up, expecting to see Mallot 
waiting with poised blade. 

The wizard was gone! 

Clyde wasted no time. His arms 
went up, clawing for a hold against the 
top of the shallow sink. He found it, 
lifted himself, hung for a straining in- 
stant, and pulled himself over the 
rounded rim. 

He lay panting on top of the sink for 
a moment, utterly exhausted. 

When he looked up once more, he 
was revivified with a thrill of horror. 


4G 


AMAZING STORIES 


gIMON Mallot stood on the adjacent 
table top. Gwen crouched at his 
feet. The wizard's sword's sword was 
menacing, forcing her back — back into 
the gaping mouth of an empty test-tube 
that lay on its side! 

Even as Clyde watched, the girl was 
lowering her body and wriggling back- 
wards into the tube. Mallot was forc- 
ing her with the sword, grinning in hell- 
ish anticipation. 

Gwen's body, oddly elongated 
through the glass walls of the test tube, 
now lay inside the round glass. Mallot 
turned, stooped. 

Clyde realized what he was doing. 
He was going to roll the test-tube over 
the edge of the table 1 

Gwen, dropped to the floor below — 
the glass prison shattering about 
her 

The tube rolled. And Clyde darted 
forward. Again he hurtled the chasm 
between sink and table. He paused 
only long enough to retrieve his needle 
weapon. 

Then, with a shout, he bore down up- 
on the wizard from the rear. 

Mallot looked up, wheeled. Abrupt- 
ly he halted. The tube rocked on the 
table edge, rested there. 

Mallot looked at his own needle, rest- 
ing at his feet. There was no time to 
pick it up. Clyde was almost upon 
him. And now the pursuer became the 
pursued as Mallot ran back along the 
table towards the vial of antidote. 

What did he intend to do — make a 
last stand beside the bottle? Clyde 
followed, puzzled by the action. 

But Mallot halted only for an in- 
stant. He stooped and grasped some- 
thing in his hand, then ran forward 
once more to the edge of the table and 
clambered down the back of the chair 
towards the floor below. 

Clyde didn't hesitate. He meant to 
follow — but what about his needle? It 


was too heavy to carry. For an instant 
he pondered. Then he dropped it over 
the edge to the floor below. 

Perhaps Mallot would reach it first 
— but he had to take that chance. 

Clyde reached the chair, crawled 
down the back. Mallot was below him. 
Clyde almost slid part-way, in a des- 
perate attempt to narrow the distance 
between himself and the wizard. 

But Clyde was still on the lower 
rungs as Mallot reached the floor. And 
then, from his perch, Clyde saw what it 
was the tiny giant had stooped to pick 
up. 

It was a thread — a simple length of 
white thread. Simon Mallot held it in 
in his hand, and Clyde saw that the 
skein rose above his head. The other 
end was attached to something on top 
of the table. 

What was it? 

The answer came. Mallot tugged on 
the end of the white thread. And from 
above, with a hurtling crash, dropped — 
the bottle containing the growth reduc- 
tion antidote I 

It dropped past Clyde's head and fell 
with a shattering thump. 

But it did not break. 

Mallot looked up at his enemy as 
Clyde clung to the rung of the chair. 
Then he grinned. Carefully he stooped 
and untied the thread from around the 
vial. 

Clyde panted as he turned to con- 
tinue his descent. He had to reach the 
floor and find the needle before Simon 
Mallot realized one was there. 

He knew Mallot had another scheme, 
but he didn't dare stop to gaze. A few 
more movements and he'd reach the 
floor. He climbed on 

Then it happened. 

The white noose coiled out, sailed in 
an arc around Clyde's shining head, and 
dropped in a hangman's knot around 
his neck. 


IT'S A SMALL WORLD 


47 


r^LYDE'S hands rose to tear at the 
rope — for that was what the thread 
amounted to. 

As he released his hold, he fell. And 
the rope tightened, the wizard tugged, 
Clyde felt the red haze rise around him 
as he gasped for breath. 

Floundering helplessly, Clyde saw 
Simon Mallot run towards him with a 
grin of evil triumphant. In one brawny 
hand he held the glittering needle. The 
wizard had found it, then I 

This was the end. Bruised, battered, 
a strangling victim of the sorcerer's cun- 
ning, Clyde stared up at the descending 
point of the needle. 

Simon Mallot's white face loomed. 
The eyes flamed, the red lips parted. 
And the silver death slashed towards 
Clyde's breast. 

The grow] rose with startling swift- 
ness. The deep, purring moan of men- 
ace caused both wizard and victim to 
turn their heads. 

It was the black cat. It had slipped 
into the room quite stealthily — but 
stealth turned to lightning speed. 

All in an instant Mallot turned, 
stared at the great black body before 
him, then shrieked and tried to dodge. 

But the razored claw raked nut, the 
sleek head bent forward. 

One dreadful, gurgling scream — one 
indescribable gulping sound — and then 
the black beast was slinking from the 
room. 

Clyde stared, then looked away. A 
tiny leg dangled limply from the black 
cat's jaws . . . like the paw of a white 
mouse . . . 

CHAPTER IX 

A Sizeable Problem 

'"JTIE noose was gone from Clyde's 
neck. Gwen, shaken but smiling, 
had joined him on the floor. Now, to- 
gether again, they tugged at the end of 


the needle. Its point was imbedded in 
the cork stopper of the vial. 

"Once more," Clyde urged. "We'll 
yank it out." 

They did. The cork gave, and the 
precious fluid flowed across the floor. 
Swiftly Clyde loosened the needle. 

"Wonderful thing," he commented 
grimly. "A weapon, then a corkscrew, 
and now a hypodermic needle." 

"Clyde." Gwen's eyes clouded. 

"Yes, darting?" 

"Aren't you afraid to use that stuff? 
After all, you don't know if it will 
work — and the needle is so big " 

Clyde smiled and shrugged. 

"What else can I do?" he said. "It's 
a chance I must take." He dipped the 
needle point in the pool of fluid on the 
floor. 

"Oh, Clyde!" 

She ran t© him then, and they clung 
together — two grotesque tiny little fig- 
ures, ragged and bruised and infinites- 
mal. 

But there was reality in their em- 
brace — perhaps the last reality in a 
fantastic world. 

"All right, darling," Clyde whispered. 
He stepped back. One hand held the 
needle forward, tipped the point in. He 
placed his arm against the point, forced 
it down. The point was wet. 

A trickle of crimson — a groan 

Clyde fell. But even as he fell, he 
felt himself shoot upwards. 

This time there was no drowning 
sensation; only a surprising feeling of 
expansion. It was as though he flew 
upwards instead of dropping — as 
though he soared to meet the room 
about him. 

And then he was standing on his 
feet once more, standing and leaning 
against the laboratory table. 

But he was alive again — alive, and 
fully-grown to his natural size! 

The rest was easy. 


48 


AMAZING STORIES 


The requirements of modesty were 
easily fulfilled with the aid of the 
wizard's discarded garments. And then 
Clyde was cradling the tiny figure 
of Gwen between his fingers, pressing 
the needle gently home 

Within a few moments a normal girl 
lay in his arms. 

There was another embrace. An em- 
brace, this time, of joyous reunion in 
a properly proportioned world. 

"Hey — what about me?" 

Clyde whirled. 

"It's Roger!" he grinned. "We al- 
most forgot about him." 

Stepping to the table, Clyde untied 
the child. The gauze knots were no 
problem to his fingers now. 

"Thanks," said the boy. 

"Save it," Clyde advised. "Let's get 
our things and get out of here. Gwen, 
slip on Mallot's robe. My own clothes 
must be downstairs." 

"What about the butler?" Gwen 
asked. 

"Mallot sent him out for the day," 
Roger informed her. "After all, it's 
Christmas." 

"So it is," Clyde grinned. "Though 
I'd hardly say we've had much of a 
holiday." 

T_TE TURNED and guided Gwen out 
of the laboratory. Roger lingered 
behind the doors for a moment, then 
joined them on the stairway. 

In the hall, Clyde dressed once more. 
Gwen wrapped the robe around her, a 
smile on her doll-like cheeks. Suddenly 
her pert nose wrinkled. 


"Don't I smell smoke?" she asked. 

Roger nodded. "Yes," he whispered. 
"I — I started a fire in the laboratory 
upstairs. Such things should be de- 
stroyed." 

Clyde looked at the boy, but there 
was wisdom beyond youth in his eyes. 

He nodded. "Yes," he agreed. "Per- 
haps it's for the best." 

He bent his red head down as Gwen 
whispered in his ear. The girl pointed 
at Roger and smiled. 

"What are you whispering about?" 
the boy demanded. 

Clyde smiled. "Nothing much," he 
declared. "It's just that we're going 
to be married, and Gwen suggested that 
she'd like to adopt you as our boy." 

Roger glowed and shuffled his feet. 
"Good enough," he agreed, as they left 
the house. 

Gwen sighed. "Of course it's going 
to be an awful job to change some of 
those weird ideas Mallot has given you. 
But we'll bring you up properly." 

"Bet we will," said Clyde grimly. He 
grasped Roger's arm grimly. "The first 
step in your education starts now," he 
told the boy. He glanced at the smoke 
pouring from the roof of the house be- 
hind them. 

"I'll have to teach you not to play 
with matches," he muttered. 

"What are you going to do?" Gwen 
cried. 

Clyde grinned as he slowly bent the 
boy forward in an ageless gesture. 
"Nothing at all," he said. "Nothing 
at all. I'm just going to give the kid 
a good, old fashioned spanking!" 


COMING IN THE MAY ISSUE 

Here It if at last, you super-scientific detective fans! A REAL Interplanetary Mystery! 50.000 words— not only 
a scientific detective story, but a sensational science fiction story as well! As GREAT as "Empire Of Jegga"— 
and by the SAME author! It's 

"MURDER IN SPACE" 

By David V. Reed 

For Crying Out Loud. Don't Miss the May Issuel 


AMAZING STORIES 


49 


JAPS HUNT QUININE SUBSTITUTE 


THE Japanese, who now have a corner on 
the world's supply of quinine, the most 
effective drug in the treatment of malaria, 
are reported to he hunting high and low for a 
passable substitute. They disclosed this themselves 
in numerous recent propaganda broadcasts in 
which they also announced that they had already 
"discovered" one or two obviously unsatisfactory 
substitutes. 

These announcements are accepted in official 
Dutch quarters as evidence that the Japanese are 
seriously considering the possibility that they may 
be driven out of Java. In fact, no other interpre- 
tation could be placed upon the reports, for in 
peace time Java, the most important of the East 
Indies islands, provided 95 per cent of the world's 
requirements of quinine. 

Thus it is inconceivable that Java's natural sup- 
plies would be insufficient to meet the. needs of 
the Japanese and Indonesians, despite malaria epi- 
demics reported in the Archipelago. This is par- 
ticularly true since the Tokyo radio claimed as 
recently as September 28 that quinine production 
at Bandung had risen to 172 per cent of the pre- 
invasion output. 

In malaria the Japanese officials and soldiers 
Stationed on the conquered Dutch islands have 
met an enemy they fear as much as dive-bombers 
or tanks, and rightly so. Since they occupied the 
Archipelago, the disease has increased alarmingly; 
it now rages through like a scourge from the 
northern tip of Sumatra to the Japanese-occupied 
portion of Dutch New Guinea, hitiing the popu- 
lations of Java, Borneo, Celebes and other islands. 
Especially in Celebes the Japanese have been bat- 
tling against the tropical disease with all their 
might— mainly because their own armies are badly 


affected by it. Here they evolved a system Of 
sending malaria prevention squads, led by tliree 
Japanese officials wth three Indonesian assistants, 
throughout the island lo investigate the spread of 
the disease. But only a short time after the Tokyo 
radio informed the world of this method, Ja]>- 
anese official sources admitted that other ways of 
combatting malaria would have to be found. 

Recently the Japanese proclaimed excitedly they 
had at last found a remedy: Dr. T. J. Naingoolan 
of Medan, Sumatra, had "discovered a medicine 
concocted from a plant named Cassia Mala, which 
is found abundantly in Sumatra and supplies a 
perfect quinine substitute.'' But shortly thereafter 
the Nipponese radio told of a ''new" and rather 
peculiar weapon for fighting malaria — a liny fish 
which is extremely fond of mosquito eggs. The 
Japanese proposed breeding an immense number 
of these fish and turning them loose in mosquito- 
infested lakes and swamps; their experts claimed 
this method would wipe malaria out of all the 
territory under their command. 

But meantime, no mailer the proportions ma- 
laria epidemics may have attained in the Nether- 
lands East Indies, the Japanese— with Java's great 
reservoir of quinine in their possession — must have 
some special reason for seeking a substitute. 
Netherlands authorities are convinced the reason 
is Japanese fear of losing Java. Dr. Charles O. 
van der Plas, Chief Commissioner of the Nether- 
lands East Indies, now stationed in Australia, hit 
the nail on the head with this remark : "If the 
Japanese are looking for a quinine substitute it's 
a sure sign they don't feel at ease. They must 
have a definite premonition thai pretty soon they 
will be thrown out of their present holdings.'' 


AN UNTOUCHED SOURCE OF RUBBER 


ALTHOUGH many people are unaware of 
the fact, the sunflower can be a very use- 
L ful and important product in our war- 
Lime economy. Recent researches have proven 
that certain extracts from the sunflower can pro- 
vide tires for our cars, cooking oils, shortening, 
vitamins, and even soap. Bui, unfortunately, this 
sourc? of rubber and other vital products has 
been sadly and entirely neglected. Although the 
sunflower is capable of providing many essential 
products, the significant fact to consider is the 
possibility of obtaining rubber to supplement our 
dwindling supply of this precious war material. 

Sunflowers can produce rubber after four 
months of growth ! In fact, the leaves richest in 
this ruLber product must be harvested four 
months after planting or else the finest results 
will nol be obtained. Thus it is possible to raise 


two crops on the same ground in some parts of 
the United States. 

Whereas we have deprived this plant of its 
rightful place in our economy, Russia has not. 
The Russians have used and developed the sun- 
flower to aid in the prosecution of their war against 
the Nazis to a considerable extent. Many people 
think that our present shortage of rubber, which 
has unquestionably impeded our war program, 
could have been avoided if the people of Ihis 
nation would have bad enough foresight to utilize 
the source of rubber inherent in the sunflower. 
Of course, after the farmer has grown the plant, 
it is up to the chemist to convert the flower into 
useful and valuable rubber. Maybe the day is not' 
far off when most of our rubber items will consist 
mainly of the rubber extracted from the sun- 
flower. 


acj,neuc 


tit 


155 


By DON WILCOX 

This beautiful, heartless woman 
held a planet in slavery. How could 
a revolt prevail against her magic? 


IF YOU'VE ever been up to your 
ears in a rebellion you know that 
the toughest part of the job is to 
keep the secret. There's a right time 
for a plot to spring. Up to that split 
second you'e got to be as dumb and in- 
nocent as a clam. 

I was clammy for months before the 
day, on the planet of Venus, that I 
thought we'd surely touch off the fire- 
works. I'd lived the double life— a 
mild and obedient assistant to a mild 
and faithful young executive. I, Adam 
Alonzo Briff, drew my pay coupons 
each week, earth time, by tending 
strictly to business, and my immediate 
superior, Jay Lathrop, likewise received 
his steady income for obedient service. 
To whom? To the lady who was the 
boss of this one and only Venus out- 
post 

Together Jay Lathrop and I, along 
with scores of other rebels, wore our 
well polished mask of allegience when- 
ever we paraded in front of the leader 
we hoped to push into a fiery furnace. 

Take my word for it, Violet Speer, in 
spite of her name, was no shy little 
violet. She was a dyed-in-the-wool 
villainess. 

Consider, for instance, what hap- 
pened that momentous night, Friday 


the 13th, earth time. I was standing on 
a stone step of this somewhat ancient 
market building on this oppressive Fri- 
day afternoon, receiving instructions 
from Jay Lathrop. It was a normally 
hot day. If there's an easy way to 
escape the oppressive heat of Venus 
without wallowing in the swamps with 
the poisonous rajlouts, I don't know 
what it is. 

I was listening to Lathrop's instruc- 
tions for one of the wrecking crews, and 
he was pacing the old stone sidewalk 
with an energetic click of his polished 
black boots, when up the sidewalk came 
a uniformed guard bearing an order 
from Violet Speer. 

"Lend a hand," he said. "We've 
lost Mr. Grailford. He's wanted for a 
special purpose." 

"What purpose?" asked Jay Lath- 
rop, squinting skeptically and passing 
his fingers through his bristling sandy 
hair. 

Guards are known to be peculiarly 
expressionless. They take for granted 
that their red and silver uniforms carry 
an overpowering prestige, and woe unto 
anyone who gives them any defiance. 
This guard repeated, as cold as ice, 
"Lend a hand, men. Grailford is 
wanted." 



AMAZING STORIES 


We went obediently, and I think 
Lathrop was glad enough to postpone 
his day's work. This particular market 
building, in line for his wrecking crew, 
was much too beautiful to destroy. 
Lathrop was bitter over such duties. He 
had a soft heart for their fine works of 
architecture. 

This building was dated 2004, which 
meant that it was one of the first of the 
American colony buildings of the 
twenty-first century Venus expedition. 
Now, four and a quarter centuries later, 
these fine structures were being crushed 
and rolled down into the dust and 
swamps of the Earth's sister planet. 

We marched off with the guard, and 
our wrecking crew also came to lend a 
hand. Whether we liked it or not we 
found the lost Mr. Grailford presently, 
hiding in the building beyond the old 
market. 

jT_JE WAS a pitiful sight, ill and half 
starved and scared. The guards 
slapped him down, then commanded 
him to come to his feet and march. I 
happened to know that Grailford had 
grown too sick to work and consequent- 
ly had hidden out. For Miss Violet 
Speer and her red and silver guards 
were slave drivers in the worst sense of 
the term. 

"A change of climate for Mr. Grail- 
ford," was the order. 

A change of climate was frequently 
ordered for workers who were run 
down — workers who needed the cooler 
and mere healthful air on the other side 
of the first mountain range. The 
strange fact was, however, that no one 
who went over for this change ever 
came hack. 

"This bear is going over the moun- 
tain," Jay Lathrop whispered to me, 
"to see what he can see." 

And three of us followed, on this Fri- 
day night. 


Without any beasts of burden or 
vehicles we gingerly held the pace up 
the long trail, through the semi-dark- 
ness into the mountainous region. We 
kept a mile's distance between us and 
the guards. At length we could see that 
the party had stopped and made a fire. 
By its light we could see Mr. Grailford 
bending under the blows of the whips. 
He was digging. They were forcing 
him to dig his own grave. 

We came within thirty or forty yards 
of the scene in time to see- the last blow 
of the guard's whip strike him down. 
He fell into his own grave. He screamed 
for mercy, but the men threw stones in 
upon him and covered him up. 

That explained many things to us — 
things best pondered in silence. We had 
no heart to return to the post and re- 
sume our jobs. So this was how men 
were treated as soon as their efficiency 
decreased and it was no longer profit- 
able for Violet Speer to feed them. 

We had long suspected this. Now we 
knew, and the rumor would spread 
through the two thousand workers like 
angry lightning through the sky 

We were rebels now, as never before. 
Grailford's fate would be ours, too, 
eventually, unless the two thousand of 
us acted together. 

The third member of our trio that 
night was a newcomer who had recent- 
ly landed on the planet of Venus in a 
ship of his own. He had come expect- 
ing to find this landing (a dot on all in- 
terplanetary maps) to be a hospitable 
haven. At once an accident had hap- 
pened to his space ship. 

One of the hanging meteors had 
rolled into it, crushing it to matchwood. 

We had not told him at once what 
that meant But he was advised of- 
ficially by Miss Violet Speer to get to 
work if he wished to earn his passage 
back to the Earth. He was a friendly 
little fellow, Midget Jupiter by name. 


MAGNETIC MISS METEOR 


53 


"You can call me Midge," he would 
say pleasantly, "but don't forget that 
my last name is Jupiter." 

Midge didn't understand these whis- 
perings of revolution at first, but we 
had promised him he would before he'd 
lived here very long. 

"And another thing I don't under- 
stand," Midge said, "This Violet Speer, 
who you say is the big boss, told me she 
wanted me to be one of her head execu- 
tives. But why did she put me to work 
with a pick and sledge?" 

"Did she actually talk with you?" 

"Oh, we had a very pleasant chat. 
She's beautiful, and her gold ornaments 
and diamonds nearly knocked my eyes 
out. She was smiling and bowing pleas- 
antly and wearing a beautiful gown — " 

"And so you thought she was a won- 
derful person . . . which may be true," 
Lathrop said, "until she decides you 
need a change of climate" 

"Yeah," Midge growled uncomfort- 
ably "Why do we men let things like 
that happen?" 

"That's just what I wanted you to 
say, Midge Jupiter," said Lathrop. 
"We haven't made this trip to the 
mountains in vain. From now on you're 
in on the movement. We'll tell you all 
about it on the way back." 

CHAPTER II 

Hanging Mefeoroids 

gO WE started back through the semi- 
darkness of the Venus night, talking 
of the trouble that was spread before 
lis. And we gave Midge the back- 
ground of what had happened here. 

We knew this much of the deep past: 
Four hundred years ago the explorers 
from the Earth had come several hun- 
dred strong and succeeded in establish- 
ing an American settlement. These 
early Venus colonists had endured their 


share of pioneer hardships. However, 
they had had one big advantage over 
the pathfinders of some planets. They 
had not been opposed by any native 
creatures intelligent enough to chal- 
lenge their right to this new land. The 
highest animals had been found to be 
rajlouts— denizens of the swamps. The 
rajlouts — as large as chimpanzees and 
as curious as penguins, had watched 
from their swamps while the civilized 
men built a well-planned space outpost 
here. 

The best of architects had come, dur- 
ing the twenty-first century, and built 
a great number of fine stone buildings. 
An excellent quality of building stone 
had gone into these architectural mas- 
terpieces, and they still stood as solid 
as Gibraltar. It was a shame to tear 
them down. 

"But why?" Midge protested. "Why 
tear them down?" 

"Different people have different con- 
ceptions," said Jay Lathrop, "of what 
a civilization should be. Those first 
Venus colonists intended that Venus 
should be, first of all, a traveler's haven, 
a place of peace, an outpost that would 
serve the coming commerce of the solar 
system. But most of those colonists 
or their descendants moved on during 
the last century or two. They left 
enough people to hold it, they thought. 
But you see what has happened. This 
daring young female conqueror who 
calls herself Violet Speer, cruised down 
across these mountains a few Earth 
years ago and announced that she was 
to be known henceforth as the Ruler of 
Venus." 

"How could she get away with that?" 

"She had beauty and intelligence, as 
you have already observed," said Jay 
Lathrop. "She had the most obedient 
army of guards I ever saw. In brief, 
she possessed everything she needed to 
persuade people to do her will. Most 


54 


AMAZING STORIES 


important of all was this single ship, 
the massive space liner in whose shadow 
we work. She lives in it, elevated a mile 
above us, and from this high throne she 
rules us." 

Midge conceded that this was a most 
remarkable arrangement. Not the least 
curious feature of this organization of 
ruling power was the fact that the ship 
had a seemingly magical faculty for 
gathering unto itself a cluster of mete- 
oroids. 

"You mean those huge balls of 
stone?" Midge asked. "I've been puz- 
zling over those from the day I arrived. 
What holds them up?" 

"Some secret gravitational forces on 
the ship itself," Lathrop explained. 

Since neither of us had ever been 
aboard this great liner that rested in 
the air a mile above us, we could only 
speculate as to who might have invent- 
ed ways for it to gather these meteor- 
oids on its flight through the skies. 
But the obvious fact was that the 
meteoroids hung there, a dozen or mare 
of them — great spheres of stone weigh- 
ing many tons each, as large as cathe- 
dral domes. There were no inside ca- 
bles to keep them from falling on us. 
But some strange magnetic lines of 
force did hold them, as if both drawing 
and repelling them at once. 

"When the ship cruises away, the 
hanging meteoroids go with it. Violet 
Speer is aware that they might have a 
real protective value in case of trouble." 

another such excursion into the 
mountains a few days later the 
three of us had another opportunity to 
talk over our situation. Midge was 
right with us in spirit. His eyes were 
wide open to the challenge that was 
ushering in our revolution silently, 
stealthily. 

"What happened," he asked, "to 
those people who were left from the 


earlier colony. Where are they now?" 

"Some of the children of the original 
Venus colonists moved on to establish 
outposts on other planets. But a scat- 
tered few are still here in our neighbor- 
hood. Look across the valley. Do you 
see those tiny blue lights, little pin- 
points against the mountain-sides? 
Those are the little huts. They've 
moved away from the port to keep out 
of her reach . . . but they are never 
out of danger." 

"And all of you?" Midge asked. 
"How did you get into this?" 

I, for one, blushed to remember how 
gullible 1 had been. 

"We came in answer to her call," 
said Lathrop. "She picked us up on 
the Earth. We left to come to a new 
land of »pportunity. It sounded beau- 
tiful in her sales talk. If you've ever 
happened to be around Buffalo or Chi- 
cago when she swooped down with her 
big space boat, you'd know. There 
were items in the paper about it at the 
time, too. They all took for granted 
that Violet Speer was a gTeat leader." 

"And who is she? Where did she 
come from?" 

"Maybe the Earth, maybe Mars, 
maybe the American Colony on Venus. 
No one knows. Maybe from an outside 
world." 

We trudged along. There were some 
electric lanterns coming now, and so 
we hid ourselves and waited. For to- 
night there was to be another burial, 
and the victim was to be old man Kan- 
daroff. 

CHAPTER III 
Rumors of Deadly Rapouts 

"VyHAT bright, burning eyes the 
old man has," Jay whispered, as 
the guards and their victim paraded 
past our hiding place. "Those four 


MAGNETIC MISS METEOR 


DC, 


guards think they've got it easy with 
the old fellow." 

"Guards I Guardsl" I muttered dis- 
gustedly. "The walking forms of men 
with ray-guns for souls — that's what 
they are." 

"Are we going to jump "em?" Midge 
asked. "It's our necks if we muff the 
job." 

"We'll never win our revolution let- 
ting them live," said Jay Lathrop. 
"They're virtually automatons of al- 
legiance, for some strange reason. So— 
here goes. You two men follow them 
closely, and I'll run ahead." 

The plan was simple, quick, and none 
too safe. But worth a try. 

Lathrop disappeared in the darkness, 
running silently. Midge and I followed 
the shine of the electric lanterns as the 
guards trudged along their familiar 
path. In a matter of an hour the party 
came to a halt, and we could see they 
were examining some tracks that 
crossed their path. 

"Where'd this barricade of stones 
come from?" one of the guards was 
saying. "Who put it there?" 

"The rajlouts must be moving up 
from the swamp," said a second guard. 
"They have a way of banking their 
paths with stones." 

"But look at these foot tracks. A 
man's bare feet. Some human has 
had a hand in this." 

They passed the lights back and 
forth over the low stumbling blocks 
of stone which Lathrop had hastily 
piled in two parallel rows squarely 
across their path. They were mystified. 
Could there be rajlouts with the feet 
and the toes of men? Violet Speer 
should have the valley swamps explored 
for signs of enemies. 

Two of them went on with old man 
Kandaroff and the other two kept on 
working with their lights. "Come on," 
one of the guards called back. "We 


can play around after our job is 
done." 

But the two laggers decided the least 
they could do was to measure the 
tracks and take a report back to Violet 
Speer. So they bent down to compare 
measurements. 

In that moment we were upon them. 
We swiftly, cold-heartedly, almost 
silently, gave it to them. We pounded 
down with stones and smashed skulls 
to pulp. 

We dragged the dead bodies to one 
side. We took the guns and the guards' 
red coats, silver belts, and the lights. 
Equipped with these, Lathrop and I 
marched forward. Midge followed at 
a safe distance. He had been a by- 
stander through this action. He co- 
operated in silence. 

Lathrop and I moved up to overtake 
the rest of the party. Old man Kan- 
daroff cried out in surprise and jumped 
to one side. The remaining guards 
were quick to fall under the blasts of 
our newly won guns. 

That was all. The job was done. The 
next party that might come across the 
mountain would find a warning in the 
form of four dead compatriots. 

We took all four guns, we made a 
pack cot for the elderly Kandaroff and 
bore him back toward home. He was 
the most grateful man in the world. 

We hid him in a cave and did every- 
thing we could in a clandestine way to 
make life comfortable for him. 

Right away there was a search party 
of guards who went out to look for 
their missing brothers. They not only 
found the bodies. They found the 
human foot tracks which Lathrop had 
taken pains to leave imprinted in the 
mud. They noted the missing guns. 
They returned with news that must 
have been disturbing to Miss Violet 
Speer. She called an assembly of all 
people who professed to be her loyal 


56 


AMAZING STORIES 


subjects and made the boast that all 
traitors would be sought out and buried 
alive. 

She was quite a beautiful person, and 
I was aware that my new friend Midge 
Jupiter was not the only person among 
the assembly who caught his breath 
when she appeared and sighed when 
she departed. 

Even Jay Lathrop was noticeably 
affected on these rare occasions when 
she made her public appearances. 

gHE did not actually come down 
from her ship and walk among us — 
though she should have been safe 
enough, with five hundred armed car- 
mine coats to protect her. 

No, her appearance was through the 
medium of a great globe — an artificial 
meteoroid which hung suspended by the 
mysterious magnetic forces like the 
others. It contained a screen which 
mirroned her by televfeion. In this 
guise she appeared to us, dressed in the 
loveliest of purple and white gowns, 
with jewels aglitter. Everyone hushed 
as if here was something too beautiful 
to be realized. 

Even when Violet Speer made a 
speech she kept her distance. That 
was her way. She preferred to use a 
television screen that would magnify 
her before the eyes of her audience. 

This device spared her the annoy- 
ance of rubbing elbows with her people. 
She could keep her distance. Popular 
feeling being what it was, this was 
the safer thing to do. The low mum- 
blings of hatred from these enslaved 
employees could not reach her. She 
could not see the deep hatreds that 
burned in the eyes of men whose com- 
rades had been tortured and buried 
alive. 

But upon this occasion Violet Speer 
quickly silenced her audience There 
were signs of a mysterious danger in 


the land. The people listened intently. 

"My dear subjects! If there is a 
dangerous breed of rajlouts moving in 
upon us, I have the means to destroy 
them. My great ship carries the facili- 
ties for wholesale destruction. So do 
not fear. But let me warn you. If any 
of you learn of the presence of these 
creatures and do not report them, you 
will be held guilty of a crime against 
our common safety." 

It was at this point that Violet Speer 
became most emphatic. There was 
dynamite in her threat. 

"I promise you that every such offen- 
der will die a horrible death. So be- 
ware! Do not let yourselves be found 
in the company of this mysterious breed 
of poison rajlouts." 

The audience was pretty well tamed 
by this speech. It was a clever stroke. 
Violet Speer wasn't talking about any 
swamp - dwelling rajlouts. Wnat she 
really had in mind would dawn upon 
everyone sooner or later. 

But for the remainder of that twi- 
light the people returning to their homes 
preferred to talk in low voices. Some 
were angry, some were afraid, many 
were puzzled. Could such a tyrant as 
Violet Speer become a fairy godmother 
of protection overnight? 

"I don't get her angle," said Midge 
Jupiter. "What does she get out of 
all this?" 

"Some people have a hankering to 
own a big industry, some a whole na- 
tion, some a continent," said Jay Lath- 
rop. "All this pretty little lady wants 
is to get a good solid choke-hold on a 
planet. The first great wave of pioneers 
has gone on. But there's enormous 
business ahead: space travel, military 
outposts, permanent settlers. I think 
Violet Speer would be satisfied with a 
complete monopoly." 

"It's my opinion," I said, "that this 
woman has an insane passion for some- 


MAGNETIC MISS METEOR 


57 


thing called power. And her way of 
achieving it is through destroying. She 
may have plans that go beyond Venus." 

"She may," said Midge, "intend to 
take in the Earth eventually." 

"She's got a long way to go," Jay 
Lathrop laughed. He brought our idle 
speculations back to the practical and 
immediate. "She'd better not com- 
mand me to destroy that old govern- 
ment building. Of all the beautiful 
architecture! Maybe it doesn't match 
the Taj Mahal or the finest cathedrals, 
but still it's one of the world's architec- 
tural treasures. And she'll sacrifice it 
because it stands in her way." 

"She's trying to erase everything the 
early colonists planted here," I said, 
"to strengthen her own claim." 

As a newcomer, Midget Jupiter was 
brimful of curiosity on all the whys and 
wherefores. A soft mist had crept up 
from the swamps. In the dimly lighted 
doorways and porches of the ancient 
stone buildings many little groups were 
passing the night as we were — talking, 
wondering, trying to cut into the thick 
mists of the future to know what mean- 
ing life might hold for them here on 
Venus. 

Midge uncorked another question. 
"Where'd she ever get such a terrific 
space ship?" 

CHAPTER IV 

A Girl on the Trail 

"^HAT," said Jay, "is as much a 
mystery as where it got her. Ap- 
parently it was Earth-built. But it con- 
tains an amazing secret process for 
gathering a quantity of little meteoroids 
out of space. Somehow those masses 
come, hundreds of tons of them, as if 
to a magnet. And yet they don't make 
contact. There is always that zone of 
safety. They move along with the ship 


and yet keep their distance— a hun- 
dred yards or so from the ship's sur- 
face." 

At present there were about twenty 
of these rounded stony bodies hanging 
in the air beneath the ship, as if sus- 
pended by invisible cables. The ship 
itself was at least a mile and a half 
long. It was, to all appearances, a 
great bar magnet, capable of drawing 
these stray little heavenly bodies and 
for keeping them at safe arm's length. 

When the ship was at rest in the air, 
as at present, half a mile above the flat 
space port, the meteoroids clustered 
around, occasionally sounding off with 
a low grinding or a crash of thunder 
when they bumped. Floating balls of 
dead weight, they nfght serve as buf- 
fers for the ship's protection. Or, as 
Violet Speer had so- caiiinously sug- 
gested, they might be u^ed as instru- 
ments of destruction. 

The big orange-colorefl ship was said 
to contain a crew of only forfy-five men. 
In the very near future I.had occasion 
to verify this fact. 

In the whisperings of that night fol- 
lowing Violet Speer's speech the topic of 
revolution was not neglected. Lathrop 
knew, and so did I, that her allusion to a 
dangerous breed of rajlouts was in- 
tended as a thrust at rebel organizers. 
From her vantage point high above us 
Violet Speer was keeping watch. 

The plan of revolution was known 
to the inner circle only, and that was 
a pretty small circle in a population 
of two thousand workers. There would 
be about five hundred guards with 
standard ray-guns who would have to 
be overcome. 

We had watched repeatedly — we of 
the inner circle of twenty-five — we had 
watched and sifted these guards looking 
for some key man through whom we 
might get arms. But every man of 
those five hundred stood as solid for 


OS 


AMAZING STORIES 


his boss as a fallen meteor. 

That in itself was very surprising. 
When Midge said, "What kind of dope 
does she give them te make them that 
way?" we laughed. But he was hit- 
ting pretty close, as we afterward 
learned. 

And when he said, "Are you aiming 
to slaughter the whole bunch?" we had 
to stop and philosophize over the mat- 
ter It's always a question, when there's 
a cruel but necessary surgical opera- 
tion to bcperformed, whether any inno- 
cent flesh is going to get hurt. It's a 
tough nut to crack when you stop to 
consider that some of your enemy are 
persons who by their own bad fortune 
fell in with the wrong side. It's a hard 
decision to say that they have to be 
bumped off right along with the sinners. 
But when we talked it over in a dark 
council meeting a few nights later, Jay 
Lathrop offered an opinion that stuck: 

"If your leader is so evil that his 
poison saturates the persons around 
him, it's teo bad for them. Maybe 
they didn't want it that way. But after 
it's happened they're lost. They can't 
be redeemed. They're stumbling 
blocks to the justice that every honest 
man fights for. Gentlemen, we're going 
to have to kill, capture, or beat into 
submission exactly five hundred 
guards." 

Midge Jupiter said pessimistically, 
"That oughta be easy. Five hundred 
of them and two thousand of us — the 
only thing being that they have the 
guns." 

"Our weapons," said Lathrop, "are 
our tools — picks, shovels, mauls. 
They reacli no farther than the swing 
of your arm. Their ray-guns are good 
for exactly a hundred yards. Did you 
ever run a hundred yards for a touch- 
down, Midge? That's how far you'd 
have to run to miss the sweep of an 
atomic gun." 


^^LD man Kandaroff went over our 
plans with us; said he thought 
we were in for plenty of difficulty. 

"To mount that ship when she sits 
up there a half mile in the air isn't 
easy. How can you get there in the 
first place? And when you do, what's 
to prevent the guards frdrri turning you 
into a wisp of smoke with a gun before 
you ever get on board?" 

"But if we do get on board?" said 
Lathrop. 

"Once you're there, the guns wouldn't 
go into action so fast. A clear shot in- 
side a ship isn't easy. I've seen those 
guns work. I well remember one 
quick flash I saw. The target was a 
man, and suddenly his left side just 
wasn't there. But that wasn't all. The 
end of the table behind him wasn't 
there. And the wall behind it opened 
up, and a tree beyond that came bounc- 
ing down, and a metal signboard caved 
in and three fence-posts melted away. 
Everything that lay in the hundred- 
yard path disintegrated in a twinkling." 

This talk was followed by other ac- 
counts of the efficiency of ray-guns. 
We tried to content ourselves that they 
were positively too destructive to be 
used on a space ship. But we couldn't 
grow comfortable about that. In any 
event we bade fair to be on the receiv- 
ing end. When the meeting was over 
I heard my name called. Kandaroff 
had something to tell me. 

"See here, Briff, you've done a fine 
job of keeping m e supplied with food. 
But I suggest you let me starve for 
a while." 

His words scared me. My first 
thought was that Violet Speer had got 
our number. 

"Not yet," Kandaroff. "But that's 
what I'm affaid of. We've been 
watched. Some young girl has picked 
up the trail to my cave. I saw her 
watching you yesterday as you went 


MAGNETIC MISS METEOR 


59 


back down the mountain path." 

"Over that, trail?" I asked. "She 
must be a I»ear for punishment, ©r a 
mountain goat — " 

"A deer would be a more appropriate 
figure," said Kandaroff. "I think you'd 
better turn hunter cm your next trip to 
make sure she isn't a spy. If neces- 
sary I can go to a new hideciut." 

"Sooner or later," said Lathrop, 
"your executioner will find out you're 
still alive. " 

"The later the better," said Kan- 
daroff. "I want to stay alive. I want 
t© see this revolution through." 

No one would doubt it, in view of 
the fierce burning of his eyes. Someone 
starred the low embers of the fire, and 
a few of us cacried on. Among us we 
came to the conclusion that the girl in 
question most have been a descendant 
of one of the early Venus colonists. She 
lived with her parents in a shack about 
a mile off the brown brick road. 

"Then she won't be a spy," said 
Kandar-off confidently. "These early 
colonists don't like this Miss Violet 
Speer's rule any better than we do." 

"Anyway I'll keep a lookout," I said. 
"How old a. girl?" 

"Eighteen or nineteen." 

"I'll help you keep a loekout, Briff," 
said Midge Jupiter. 

CHAPTER V 

Mountain Secrets 

Jj^ FEW days later I got acquainted 
with this gjrl. She was eighteen, 
blonde, pretty and amiable. She was 
an American, of the stock that colo- 
nized this planet three and four hun- 
dred years ago. You could tell — the 
very regular features, the archaic ac- 
cents reminiscent of the old tweBty- 
firet oentyjry movies, a pn^ical hardi- 
hood characteristic of the pioneers. 


Her education was negligible, her inter- 
ests limited. Her conceptions of the 
immensity of the world and its affairs 
were pitifully behind the times. Ideas 
about time and space had advanced to 
new levels of complexity since her an- 
cestors struck out on their great pio- 
neering adventure. 

However, when it came to such fun- 
damental matters as honesty and fair 
play and cooperation with one's fellow- 
men, this pretty little girl seemed to be 
very much up to date. She and her 
family were generous and hospitable. 
I should know: the very hour that I 
met her found me on the way to her 
home. 

It began with our mountainside con- 
versation. I had turned suddenly to 
see her bob down behind a boulder. 
When she peeked around I was there 
looking down at her. 

"Why are you following me?" I 
asked. 

"To see where you take the food." 

"I have a place to take it," I said. 
"There is a hungry mouth in the moun- 
tains that needs to be fed." 

She showed an inclination to be su- 
perstitious about this. "A hungry 
mouth in the mountains." She looked 
in awe toward the great purple-shad- 
owed craggy slopes. Then she turned 
to me, laughing. "You are joking. 
The mountains do not eat food." 

"The mountains are full of secrets," 
I said. "Why do parents think I come 
to these foothills with food? Have 
you told them?" 

"My parents say you must have 
someone in hiding. But I'll tefl them 
you said there was a mouth in the 
mountains." She smiled at me quiz- 
zically to know whether she was on 
the right track. 

I was at once worried over how far 
this rumor of a fugitive might have 
travelled. But the girl assured me, in 


60 


AMAZING STORIES 


my own words, that the mountains were 
full of secrets. 

She suggested, then, that I might ac- 
company her to her house and talk 
with her parents, and I accepted gladly. 

Midge would have been jealous of 
my good fortune. These homes of the 
remaining families of Venus colonizers 
were apart from the city which Violet 
Speer was making over. We who had 
been brought in during the decade 
were usually kept too busy to make 
friends. Still more to the point of my 
good fortune, this young girl, Ellen by 
name, was as charming and pretty as 
a mountain flower. 

We ascended the steps of a porch 
that was supported by stilts, and there 
Ellen's parents sat, apparently passing 
the long day by gazing down at the 
swampy lakes, across to the old city, 
and up at the mammoth space ship 
overhead. 

We chatted in a very leisurely man- 
ner. They were willing to talk about 
their ancestors who pioneered here, 
about the old buildings that were being 
torn down for a wider space port and 
a more up-to-date city around it. But 
upon the burning subject of Miss Violet 
Speer they would say nothing. 

They watched me suspiciously, and I 
wondered if they thought I was a spy 
from our tyrannical ruler. 

What a strange household! These 
people seemed to have hidden them- 
selves away in the hills for generations. 
They hardly realized that the achieve- 
ments of their ancestors were buried 
under the dust of time. 

A TROPHY that interested me was 
an ancient three-bladed rotor on 
the wall. It was a model that I judged 
had come down the second half of the 
twentieth century, from the long out- 
moded heliocopters which people used 
to jump from roof to roof. In their day 


they had been the latest and most con- 
venient mode of short individual hops, 
as from home to the other side of the 
city or even down town for the groceries. 
There had been a day when the owners 
of such vehicles had been the new 
aristocracy. The forerunners of a 
more advanced technological age. And 
that was no doubt the reason that family 
pride had preserved this relic. 

How curious that these people should 
have grown so provincial! The spirit 
of adventure had brought their fore- 
fathers to this far-off outpost ahead of 
the sluggish spread of civilization. Far 
ahead of the mass of emigrants they 
had come. Now, with the passing gen- 
erations, the families had lapsed into a 
society of stragglers, bound down with 
a burden of museum pieces from the 
past, helicopter rotors! 

One could see in their fine, intelligent 
features the capacity for taking their 
place with the ranks of the moderns. 
Circumstances had done this to them. 

When I bade the girl and her family 
good afternoon I promised to come to 
see them again. Here were friends who 
could be trusted completely. It was 
then, as Ellen walked with me out to- 
ward the brown brick roadway, that I 
stated my confidence: It was no drag- 
on's mouth or monster that I fed; it was 
indeed a man who was hiding — hiding 
because the cruel Violet Speer had 
meant to kill him. 

"And why?" 

"Because she thinks he is too old to 
be a good worker. She does not appre- 
ciate his years of hard effort." 

"I wish," said Ellen, "that someone 
would send her and her ship to another 
world." 

"You mustn't think such thoughts 
aloud," I warned. 

"But all of my people think such 
thoughts. My father has said that he 
would gladly fight the red and silver 


MAGNETIC MISS METEOR 


61 


guards who ride up and down from her 
ship." 

"Promise that you will tell no one 
what we have talked about." 

"I promise — and you must promise 
that no guard will catch you befriend- 
ing this man who- is hiding." 

With these vows we parted company. 

The following day, and the next and 
the next, we met and talked again. To 
me it became a double pleasure to do 
this errand — the pleasure of my talks 
with Kandaroff, wise old man that he 
was, and the enjoyment of my visit with 
this simple girl and her rough and hardy 
parents. 

One night I said to her, "Ellen, will 
you go with me tonight, and I will show 
you where this man lives, so that you 
may take food to him until I come back 
again. I may be gone for a long time." 

So she and her father accompanied 
me and promised to take Kandaroff into 
their home during my absence. 

I could not explain how or why I 
would not be leaving. I only knew that 
Jay Lathrop had heard a rumor. There 
would be a change of climate for the 
two of us very soon. 

CHAPTER VI 
Ray-Gunning for Sport? 

TPHE red and silver guards marched 
up to us in their formal manner and 
requested us t© accompany them. We 
obeyed on the instant. They led us out 
across the space port plaza. Midget 
Jupiter kept trailing along wfth us, ask- 
ing where we were going. 

"What does this mean ? Hey, what's 
the idea? Will you be sure to come 
back?" 

"He's a pest. Let's give him a real 
change o£ climate," one of the guards 
barked. They snapped an order at him 
and were about to turn him over to an- 


other set of guards when the enlarged 
image and the amplified voice of Violet 
Speer set forth a command. The sud- 
denness of her voice alarmed the people 
in the streets like a fire siren. 

"We may need another man. Bring 
him along. There will be some deck 
scrubbing to do, and it will be amusing 
to use that little short man for a mop." 

"I may not be much more than a 
midget," Midge said under his breath, 
"but she'd better not forget that I'm a 
Jupiter too." 

So he came, right by our side, and the 
next thing we know we were on the half- 
mile high elevator, gasping for breath 
as the cage went sailing up and up. 
Around us were the great spheres of 
stone hanging motionless in the air. 
Above us was the huge orange hull of 
the space ship. 

The aperture spread black and 
ominous, to engulf us and our elevator 
car. A few minutes later we found our- 
selves in a mammoth parlor high in the 
sky, looking out at the steamy clouds 
that brushed past our big ship's nose. 

"You are my guests for some days to 
come, gentlemen," came the voice of the 
lady of this great ship. A television 
screen was, as usual, her means of ap- 
pearing before us. "I welcsme you as 
fellow passengers on a long journey." 

"Long journey! " Midge groaned for 
our benefit. "Famous last words." 

"A space trip," Lathrop whispered. 
"Don't get scared. Act natural." 

"Under these conditions," said 
Midge, "there's nothing so natural as 
acting scared. What's she going to do?" 

I had an idea she had taken us along 
for ballast and would drop us off when 
the time came, but for some reason Jay 
Lathrop was more hopeful. He pre- 
ferred, at least, to be optimistic until 
he saw where the danger lay. 

"In other words," I relayed my own 
interpretation to Midge, "Jay and I 


02 


AMAZING STORIES 


aren't going to get nervous until they 
bump you off." 

"Don't. Don't even say it for a joke," 
Midge whispered. 

Lathrop talked to us in a low whisper 
for fear the very floors might have ears. 

"I think I know why we've come. 
She's smelled a revolution cooking and 
she wants to know who the cooks are 
that are stirring it. It may cool down 
with us gone." 

"For our good health," said Midge, 
"I hope it keeps stewing." 

I must admit there was a certain 
aesthetic pleasure in being here, look- 
ing out on the big universe previous to 
our take-off, looking down on our port 
where our fellow creatures were strug- 
gling. One who hasn't experienced it 
can hardly appreciate the different way 
you suddenly feel about everything. 
You've been grubber of the soil, an in- 
dustrious earthworm, up to this mo- 
ment. All at once you find yourself a 
winged bird with the power to float in 
the air and study the world beneath you. 
Too much of this pleasure would be the 
undoing of a rebel. It puts so much 
clean distance between himself and the 
men down there who are getting 
whipped and led across to other cli- 
mates. 

yiOLET SPEER came in. She was 
the slickest dresser you ever saw. 
She must have had a corner on the 
world's finest jewels and most beautiful 
gowns. I don't think they could have 
been fashioned by any of the few ar- 
tisans gathered at Venus. She was a 
person who could walk into the room 
and make all conversations stop off 
short. I had a dreadful fear that she 
might be able to kill revolutions as easy 
as conversations. I mean, here we 
were, all sworn rebels, and good ones as 
long as we were on the ground. But up 
here, with her smiling at us and talking 


in her quick-witted manner, we could 
almost believe we were her long-lost 
friends. 

As to age, anyone's guess is good. 
She was as vivacious as a sixteen-year- 
old, as witty and wise as a grandmother, 
and as quick to seize an advantage as a 
spoiled child. She could have easily 
have been, from her appearance, twen- 
ty-five or forty. The more you watched 
her the more you weren't sure whether 
she was really beautiful, or young 
either. Once when she dropped the re- 
mark that this ship had been in the 
family one hundred and twenty years 
you had a weird feeling that she might, 
by some mysterious manner, be remem- 
bering back that long. 

She sat down beside Jay Lathrop, 
and as soon as she had talked with the 
others of us just long enough to know 
we were practically speechless in her 
presence, she turned her attentions to 
him. 

"If you'll come to the windows, Mr. 
Lathrop," she said, taking him by the 
hand, "you'll have a splendid view of 
the newest meteor. It came to us out of 
nowhere on our last trip out." 

"I don't understand it at all," said 
Lathrop. "How do you account for it?" 

Now they went on talking, and their 
backs were toward us. She was hold- 
ing to Lathrop's arm, and I couldn't 
help thinking what a wonderful chance 
for us simply to do what was needed 
to be done then and there. Midge and 
I were carrying the small ray pistols we 
had once taken from guards. 

We exchanged sharp glances. Maybe 
it was something that Lathrop said just 
then that stopped us. "It would be a 
long fall from here." 

"Yes," said Miss Speer, "I've often 
thought how unfortunate it would be 
if anyone should accidentally shoot 
through this wall and it would melt 
away under atomic fire. The whole sys- 


MAGNETIC MISS METEOR 


tern of gravitational control would col- 
lapse if any chambers in the walls were 
damaged." 

"It isn't pleasant to contemplate," 
Lathrop said. "Isn't there some way 
that such a space ship wall could be 
made to resist gunfire?" 

"These modern ray-guns play no fa- 
vorites, you know. But I'll give your 
question my best thought, and maybe 
I'll turn out an answer." 

"Then you yourself are an inventor?" 
Lathrop asked. Midge and I were all 
ears now. 

"After a fashien," she smiled, as if 
being very modest over some great 
talent. "I turn my attention to such 
little matters as inventions just for pas- 
time. A pleasant diversion, inventing." 

"What have you found most divert- 
ing recently?" Lathrop asked. 

With a pleased smile Violet Speer 
took up a pencil and notebook. 

"Let me sketch one of my curious 
little theories. It is related to such 
things as walls and atomic gunfire. 
Here in a line are G, the gun; M, a 
man; and W, a space ship wall. The 
idea is, in brief, that one substance that 
might be treated to resist an attack of 
gunfire would be human material." 

"Living persons?" asked Lathrop in 
astonishment. At the same time Midge 
and I began to back away. It didn't 
sound safe to be around a woman who 
would talk like that. There wasn't so 
much as a hint of sentimentality in her 
voice to lift the mood of any of her icy 
theory talk. 

"A rather surprising theory, do you 
think, Mr. Lathrop?" she asked. 

"Surprising isn't the word for it," said 
Jay Lathrop. "It's horrifying." 

"Just as so many theories are until 
they get past the stage of experimenta- 
tion." 

"Have you already begun experi- 
menting along these lines?" 


63 

"Oh, yes, it's an instructive way to 
while away one's time on a trip to an- 
other planet." 

"Just what form does this experi- 
menting take?" 

"You're sure this won't bore you, Mr. 
Lathrop? Or you other gentlemen?" 
She turned to us, and it seemed to me 
she was gloating over our discomfort. 
Very deliberately she told us what this 
was aH about, and we sat there trying 
to take it in. I began to feel all choked 
up. 

As she explained it, the general idea 
was that living tissue could be adapted 
to endure lots of things, such as to re- 
sist diseases, to overcome much poison. 
It was within the realm of possibility 
that, if treated with certain substances, 
this same remarkable human body 
might even learn to resist atomic fire. 

It was a weird thought, no less so 
when she stopped to catalogue some of 
the varied chemical preparations with 
which she and her assistants had al- 
ready treated their subjects in the line 
of experiments. 

Finally Lathrop said, "As I under- 
stand it, then, you've prepared five dif- 
ferent types of chemical solutions 
which you have termed A, B, C, D and 
E; and you have bathed a number of 
persons in each, after which you've 
proceeded to shoot at them with ray- 
guns. But you haven't told us the re- 
sults." 

"If you're not too impatient," said 
Violet Speer, "I could give you a dem- 
onstration." 

"No, no, no, thank you," said Lath- 
rop. 

"On you, Mr. Jupiter? Wouldn't 
you like to experience this ordeal for 
yourself all in the interests of science, 
of course?" 

"You mean I'd take a bath in acid 
or something, and then you'd shoot a 
gun at me?" 


64 


AMAZING STORIES 


Violet Speer gave a cruel laugh. "Mr. 
Jupiter seems a trifle nervous. We'll 
wait until he misbehaves before we 
give him a first-hand demonstration of 
this experiment." 

CHAPTER VII 
Over the Earth's Skyscrapers 

■^TE TOOK off quietly sometime 
during that night, and from then 
on it would seem that we were in a 
permanent night. The sun was out 
there doing its best to fill the windows 
of one side of the ship with light, but 
it was a thin and sickly effort, coming 
through the vast sky of almost tangible 
darkness. With no atmosphere around 
us to diffuse the light, neither the sun 
nor the stars could do much to brighten 
our gloomy way. 

Our routine of days and nights and 
mealtimes, however, was adhered to on 
a basis of Earth time. You've doubt- 
less followed this custom in your own 
space travel. It makes for desirable 
regularity in the details of living. At 
the same time it admits of flexibility, 
giving you such added pleasures as 
come from ignoring the morning alarm 
clock, for example, and turning over for 
more sleep. 

My sleep was nothing to brag about. 
I drifted into gloomy dreams and tossed 
about like a bouncing meteor. After a 
night of nightmares I tried to improve 
my day with a long nap, which turned 
into a series of daymares. 

That evening we gathered on the ob- 
servation deck where we could watch 
the half-lighted meteoroids flow along 
with us. 

I fired an abrupt question at Violet 
Speer to re-open the matter of ray-gun 
mysteries. 

"Tell me, Miss Spear, have you suc- 
ceeded in equipping any people to live 


against this gunfire?" 

"Unfortunately, Mr. Briff," said Vio- 
let Speer, casting a cool wink at the two 
guards sitting across from us, "those 
subjects that have been dipped in solu- 
tions A, B, C and D and then shot at 
did not live to tell what happened. As 
to solution E — well J^rn not through ex- 
perimenting." 

"Oh," I said. I assumed from her 
manner that she was spinning a quick 
lie to taunt me. 

"Perhaps later on this voyage," she 
continued, "you shall see. I always 
take a few extra guests along on these 
cruises to make sure we'll not lack for 
subjects." 

I didn't sleep a wink that night. I 
did some lonely prowling around the 
ship — enough that the guards began to 
follow me. So I was forced back into 
my stateroom. Night and day, night 
and day, according to the clock, went 
along with very little visible change in 
the stellar scenery. The gradual shift- 
ing of positions among the closer plan- 
ets was the all-consuming interest on 
the observation deck. 

Soon the Earth loomed large and we 
were moving down upon the wide white 
foamy blankets of clouds that covered 
great patches of continent. Like Venus, 
the Earth had approached as a sphere 
of misty white; its clear-cut features 
that stand out boldly on every drawing- 
room globe were blankets under the 
opaque covering of atmosphere. 

Our meteoroids were with us, and 
now they turned into glowing meteors. 
One could not be sure at what hour or 
elevation they first took on the soft 
glow of heat. The friction of passing 
through the light air was intensified, 
minute by minute. Soon our meteoric 
company had become a riot of light. 

lSJ'O DOUBT many people on the 
Earth saw the cluster of brilliant 


MAGNETIC MISS METEOR 


65 


flashes, and the superstitious »nes won- 
dered whether so many falling stars did 
not portend a disaster. I was guessing 
along the same lines, and superstition 
had nothing to do with it. 

A few of the meteors Burned out. 
Others stayed lighted like steady 
candles, and as we crossed through the 
long zone of night they blazed a lumi- 
nous path for us. Snow-covered moun- 
taintops reared their brightened points 
toward us, with shadows falling away 
on one side and closing in from the 
other. 

Sometimes a flaming meteor would 
jump away from our course and shoot 
off on a tangent of its own, ripping into 
the forest and burying its white-hot 
mass in a mountainside. 

What a terrible weapon of destruc- 
tion! For a moment I could imagine 
how a city might suffer under such a 
blow. But it was a magnificent show, 
and I kept wishing that Ellen were 
with me. If I ever got back I'd tell 
her — 

At last! Here we were approaching 
a city, retarding our speed at such a 
rate that the sensation was almost 
sickening. 

High over the tops of buildings in a 
skyscraper city we came to a stop. 

It was not an invasion. The people 
of the Earth no longer thought of other 
planets with invasion terrors. With 
earth man's first acquaintance with life 
from the outside, that bogey had been 
blasted. Rather, the earth inhabitants 
had come to realize that visits from the 
far-off lands usually carried no impli- 
cation of harm. 

I knew this to be so, because I had 
been a student of the trends of such 
opinions. Indeed, it was to get further 
information along this line that I had 
originally fallen for Violet Speer's in- 
vitation to Venus. 

As it had happened a few years ago 


when I myself was enticed away from 
the Earth, so it happened now. 

That is, the meteors served to at- 
tract much attention. As they gently 
swayed, floating now at a level only 
fifty yards or so above the tallest sky- 
scrapers, thr»ngs gathered in the streets 
below. You could see curious people 
pointing up at them. Would they 
strike the buildings? Why didn't they 
fall? 

It was apparent at once to the street- 
fuls of crowds that this line of meteors 
was being controlled from the massive 
ship a half mile above them. In my 
own day of seeing this from the earth, 
I remember; we had marvelled at the 
delicacy of the controls. What wonders 
— to maneuver these countless tons of 
stone safely over the aerials and smoke- 
stacks and flagpoles! Now it was just 
as uncanny to us on the ship who had 
watched the regularity of this control 
straight across the heavens. 

But of all this spectacular array the 
most sensational item was the leading 
meteor. For it was not a meteor but 
an artificial one. Violet Speer evidently- 
had had it made to order. Unlike the 
ten or twelve that followed it, still 
luminous with sprays of fire, this arti- 
ficial meteor contained instruments 
within its metal shell. 

It was equipped with a television re- 
ceptor which displayed to the city a 
huge image of Violet Speer. 

That was somewhat deceiving. It 
was not, as I had once thought, an ac- 
tual screen enlargement of Miss Speer 
herself; rather, it was the televised en- 
largement of a delicately carved statue 
of her. 

It announced her coming, just as any- 
one of the great blazing sky advertise- 
ments of the times might announce 
their products: with the most attratcive 
devices possible for catching the eye. 
It was no mean psychology on Violet 


66 


AMAZING STORIES 


Speer's part to employ this statue as 
her manner of appealing to the crowds. 
For what could be more attractive than 
such an exquisite image of herself, in 
the nude? 

At once the great electrically lighted 
boards that flashed their news items to 
the street crowds sent forth the mes- 
sage: 

"Miss Meteor has arrived from Ve- 
nus. Miss Meteor, with magnetic ship 
and stellar display, may be seen hover- 
ing over the center of the city at this 
hour." 

CHAPTER VIII 

Novairre the Wizard 

""J^IIE hours of waiting passed quick- 
ly, and before I could realize it we 
were again on our way to Venus. 

I had never stepped my foot off the 
ship. The reason was obvious, consid- 
ering what a different story I might tell 
about Venus from the one that "Mag- 
netic Miss Meteor" must have told. 

None of us three was allowed to talk 
with the reporters who came upon the 
ship to interview the engineers, mechan- 
ics and guards. It had again become 
apparent that Lathrop, Midge and I 
were prisoners. 

What had happened during that stop 
was that Violet Speer had communi- 
cated with the Earth people through 
the medium of lolid speakers. She had 
paid herself some very pretty compli- 
ments. She had implied that she was 
being kept in power on Venus by the 
hearty support of her subjects there, 
and that she was building the happiest 
kingdom in the solar system. And so 
— what loyal men and true would go 
back with her to fill some of the im- 
porAnt positions that were now avail- 
able? 

"I need only men that are highly 


skilled. In every case they will be 
given positions of great responsibility; 
each with hundreds of workers under 
him." 

This strained the credulity. It was 
unlikely that each of these volunteers 
could become the bosses of three men 
each, let alone a hundred. But it 
sounded good, and several men came 
aboard in the earnest hope that they 
were going forth for a share in Utopia. 

To five large cities we had gone. Oc- 
casionally Violet Speer had called upon 
some of the guards or crew to testify 
to her words. From five cities the new 
men had come up in the elevator cage 
to fill passenger compartments. Violet 
Speer had not neglected to add the very 
attractive lie that there were great num- 
bers of beautiful girls among the na- 
tive population of Venus, who looked 
forward to winning their husbands 
from these loads of passengers. 

The truth was that there had been 
some intermarrying of this sort, if the 
remnants of the old American colonists 
might be called the "native popula- 
tion." But these marriages were rare. 
The hard work and severe discipline 
were not conducive to marriages. 

High pay, beautiful living conditions, 
delightful homes — with these selling 
points it was no wonder that there were 
more applicants than the ship could ac- 
commodate. And so, loaded down with 
men and good will, we sailed for Venus. 

On the way back something came up 
that scared Midget Jupiter so he 
couldn't eat. 

When he managed to convey to me 
what had happened I was so badly 
jolted I couldn't talk straight or show 
my face on the observation deck. 

What happened was that one of the 
guards came to Midge and told him I 
wanted to see him in a lower room, 
number 247. Okay, Midge said, he'd 
go right down. 


MAGNETIC MISS METEOR 


67 


And so he started. Then he took a 
notion he'd have a look at our state- 
room to make sure I hadn't walked out 
and left it unlocked (which I never did, 
but he always thought I would). He 
looked in, and lo and behold, I was 
in it I 

"I thought you wanted to see me in 
247," he said. 

"You've been dreaming," I said. "I 
don't even know of such a room." 

TLTE GAVE me a surprised look and 
then sauntered out without saying 
another word. As I thought this over 
afterward it seemed that he had be- 
haved rather strangely. I wasn't 
aware that the moment he closed the 
door he struck out on a one-man inves- 
tigation of room 247. 

He knew at once that someone must 
have wanted him to step into that room. 
So, of all things, he swiped a brace and 
bit from a repair kit and edged around 
to a room adjacent. This turned out 
to be a part of the individual breakfast 
nooks along the rear of the dining hall. 
He timed his strokes to the ship's rhyth- 
mic' vibrations and quietly drilled a hole 
through the wall. 

Luckily he wasn't discovered. He 
returned to the stateroom after one 
quick eyeful of what could be seen 
through that wall. When he told me 
about it I wouldn't believe him until I 
went down and looked for myself. 

Then the three of us — Lathrop in- 
cluded — took turns looking. 

"I've seen them before," Midge whis- 
pered. "They were in the last batch to 
come aboard." 

"You'll never see them again," said 
Lathrop. 

Then it was my turn for a glimpse 
at the strange goings-on. 

What I saw was a ray-gun demon- 
stration. Here was Violet Speer's ex- 
periment involving human beings. Men 


were being led in as targets and shot 
down. 

One at a time these subjects were be- 
ing admitted to the room. I could 
hear a door open and close. Then a 
man, inevitably looking like a drowned 
rat, would stray into view, usually ask- 
ing the guard what this was all about. 

"They've been saturated with a 
chemical solution," I whispered. "But 
it doesn't have any effect on the gun- 
fire." 

The guard would wait until the sub- 
ject had strayed half-way across the 
room. Then he would pull the trigger. 
There'd be an instant's flash, like a 
straight bar of blue lighting. In that 
split second the luckless man would 
melt away. 

The three of us caught our varying 
impressions of this weird drama. A 
few minutes later we were back in the 
comparative safety of our stateroom 
talking it over. 

"Aside from the unspeakable horror 
of it," said Lathrop, "It is an amazing 
thing." 

"Amazing? How?" I asked. 

"Amazing that that little wizard 
scientist could stop the rays with his 
body." 

Midge and Lathrop had both seen 
what I had missed. As we compared 
observations we knew that the only 
reason the rays didn't eat straight 
through the walls of the ship was that 
they were caught and absorbed by the 
naked body of this little withered yel- 
low man. 

"He is the scientific brains of this 
outfit," said Lathrop. "I knew these in- 
ventions had someone other than Violet 
Speer back of them. I've been keeping 
an ear to the ground. This little man's 
name is Novairre." 

"You've seen him, Briff," said Midge 
to me. "Between their descriptions of 
this little wizard who would promenade 


6S 


AMAZING STORIES 


the observation deck in a snappy pin- 
striped suit. They spoke of him as hav- 
ing a highly intelligent look." 

"The look of a fiend, if you ask me," 
I said. Which was our common feel- 
ing, now that we had seen him at work. 
He and a couple of guards had run the 
whole show. The gun victims were the 
few new volunteers from the Earth who, 
once aboard, had shown signs of being 
hard to manage. Their uncooperative 
tendencies were evidently taken by Vio- 
let Speer to be sufficient cause for rid- 
ding herself of them. Some of them, I 
confess, were pretty hard lots — escaped 
convicts, Lathrop said. But you never 
know: a good reyolution can sometimes 
make heroes of persons who have, for 
one reason or another, fallen into an un- 
fortunate relationship with the law. 

At any rate these men were being 
brought in one at a time and melted to 
nothing by the blast of the atomic pis- 
tols, and the very blue blast that 
turned them into thin air would spray 
harmlessly against the chest of this 
fiendish little Novairre just back of 
them. And he never suffered in the 
slightest. 

Among the three of us we had seen 
six men lose their lives. That was 
enough to scare us into a sickness and a 
panic. Midge and I stuck tight to our 
stateroom. 

jyjEANWHILE it was difficult man- 
aging for Jay Lathrop, for the 
reports he brought back to us after a 
visit with Violet Speer were that she 
was encouraging him to fall in love with 
her. In fact, she was spiking her ad- 
vaaces with little impjied threats that 
he might lose a couple of friends if he 
didn't show more inclination to be so- 
ciable. 

"And so I've spent the last two hours 
reading poetry — nice, peaceful love 
songs and all sorts of refined sentiments 


— to this magnetic murderess. What a 
mess we're in. ... If I ever get back 
to the rest of the poor devils she's 
hounding, I'll never waste another min- 
ute on anything but revolution." 

Thus spoke the most determined 
friend I ever knew. And Midge and I 
were back of him a hundred percent. 

But there were several obstacles, 
long and short. One of them might 
take a year to overcome. Another might 
knock at our door at any moment and 
turn all our plans to naught. 

There were going to be three thou- 
sand of us now instead of two. Lath- 
rop was weighed down by that. 

This new thousand (minus the six or 
more who would never be accounted 
for) would be slow to awaken to the 
need for a revolution. They were com- 
ing into the situation blind. That was 
sure to hamstring us and present any 
immediate revolutionary play. 

"What a bunch of innocents," Lath- 
rop groaned. "I've tried to talk with 
some of them, but they think I'm a 
crank. They'll have to see things for 
themselves. It may take years to swing 
them into line. At present they can't 
be organized to listen to our stories, for 
they're a scattered bunch of ambitious 
individuals, not a social group." 

This was true. They were competitors 
for the big jobs they thought were wait- 
ing. At present they were completely 
in sympathy with Miss Violet Speer, so 
they were unlikely to believe that such 
an attractive woman, showing them her 
most charming hospitality, could pos- 
sibly be anything less than a beautiful 
character. 

"It will take time," said Jay Lathrop. 

Then came heavy footsteps and a 
loud knock at our stateroom door. The 
voice of a guard called, "One hour un- 
til we arrive at Venus. Get your tilings 
in order." 

"We'll be ready," Lathrop called 


MAGNETIC MISS METEOR 


69 


back. "It will take a few minutes." 

"Are the other two men with you?" 

"They're here," said Lathrop. 

"They were supposed to report to 
room 247. Why haven't they done so?" 

The words sounded like a death sen- 
tence. Neither Midge nor I could utter 
a syllable. 

"Why haven't they reported?" the 
voice barked. 

"They must have missed the order," 
Lathrop. "I'll tell them — " 

"Open upl " the guard shouted. "I'll 
conduct them down myself to be sure 
they get there. Open up! " 

Lathrop opened the door. Not one 
but four guards in their gaudy red and 
silver uniforms. They glared in at us 
with faces as hard as marble. 

"This way, you twol Make it 
snappy I" 

CHAPTER IX 

A Race from Ray Blasts 

AX/'E CAME to our feet and advanced 
across the room. 
I wondered, in that brief second, 
whether the mean-looking ray-guns in 
the guards' hands might also contain 
attachments for shooting old-fashioned 
steel bullets. I wondered whether they 
knew that all three of us had guns of our 
own. 

But no — that was our little surprise, 
and Jay had the honor »i springing it. 

"Come in here, you devils!" Lathrop 
snapped. His gun was on them. 

For the first time I saw expressions 
other than insolence in these guards' 
faces. Talk about surprise. These 
uniformed bozos were turned ice-cold 
in their tracks. 

"You don't — y»u don't dare shoot!" 
the spokesman of the lot stammered. 
"The ship can't take it!" 

"That's why we're got you," Lathrop 


said, and the way he clipped his words 
they knew he meant business. "We 
don't give a damn about the ship!" 

We were with him, whatever he 
meant to do. Our guns were ready. 
And unless these guards had the means 
to fill us with lead, we could run this 
bluff just as far as they. Anyhow we 
thought we could. 

The biggest of the guards, who had 
done most of the talking, began to curse. 

"Shut up!" said Lathrop, brandish- 
ing his gun. 

The four guards began to mumble 
and whimper, and then they came to- 
ward us, and it looked as if our bluff 
was done. 

"Shall I shoot 'em?" Midge yelled. 

Before Lathrop could give a cue one 
way or the other our telephone rang. 
That froze both sides of us momen- 
tarily. 

As if I wasn't already frozen from 
fear. The thought of a ray-gun battle 
while we were still out in space was a 
contemplation of suicide, nothing else. 
The air within this enclosed shell would 
leak away in a hurry at the rate we 
were roaring through space. As for our 
magnetic properties that carried our 
meteoroids along, it was anyone's guess 
how they might be affected if the walls 
were blasted through. 

The phone rang a second time, and 
Lathrop made the big guard answer it. 

"It's Novairre, the scientist," said the 
guard, holding his hand over the mouth- 
piece. "He wants to know what about 
these two men." 

"Tell him they're on their way down." 

The guard obeyed and hung up. In- 
stantly the phone rang again. 

"It's Violet Speer," said the guard. 

"What does she want?" said Lath- 
rop. 

"You," said the guard. "You're to 
meet her on the observation deck to 
watch the landing at Venus." 


70 


AMAZING STORIES 


"Tell her she can wait for me," said 
Lathrop. But the guard hung up. 

"She wants you now. She's sending a 
five-guard escort." 

"So she doesn't trust me! " 

"You said it I" the guard said. He 
suddenly opened up, and his three com- 
panions smirked knowingly at what he 
had to say. "She's got your number, 
smart boy. She knows you're heading 
up a revolution. You've already started 
to work on these new passengers." 

Another guard helped him pour it on. 
"You won't get far, buddy. She's got 
you trapped." 

And a third put in, "Got any last 
words, mister? You'll never get home 
alive." 

"In that case — " Lathrop advanced 
a step with his gun. "Get out of those 
uniforms. Get out or I'll shoot." 

"The hell with you," said the big 
guard. "You don't dare " 

J^ATHROP pulled the trigger. The 
bolt of magic blue lightning went 
out straight and hard, and in that split 
second one of the four guards vanished. 
He was gone, from his last evil breath 
to his very shoestrings. 

But that wasn't all that was gone. A 
chunk of stateroom wall was missing. 
A section of utility pipes was out. And 
beyond them more walls blasted. A 
straight oval tunnel had been cut in- 
stantly, clean through the ship. 

The daring deed was done, and for 
a moment the three remaining guards 
and the three of us were the only ones 
on board who knew the meaning of that 
weird whistling sound that began to 
echo through the ship. 

That was the sound of the ship's air 
supply being dissipated! 

There were well over a thousand per- 
sons on board, and each of them would 
have a goodly amount of breathing to 
do in the next forty-five minutes. And 


right now the air was sucking away so 
fast that in one quick glance I saw a 
pack of papers, a folding table and two 
chairs dart into the open tunnel and 
shoot out into the void. 

All of which happened in hardly 
more than three or four seconds from 
the time that Jay Lathrop fired the shot. 

Two more shots were fired. Whether 
they removed anyone from another deck 
I wouldn't know. I was too busy 
swinging my fists. The three guards 
had rushed us. Somebody knocked my 
gun out of aim just as I pulled the trig- 
ger and I had a quick vision of a new 
tunnel overhead that cut through to- 
ward a sickly amber sun in a very black 
sky. 

My fists collided with a jaw and a 
guard went down. He grabbed the open 
wall as if bracing himself against a snc- 
tion. I thought he was out of the pic- 
ture, then, and I went to Midge's rescue. 

But suddenly the fallen guard was 
coming up at me, and there was a ray- 
gun in his hands. I was sure it was 
all over with me then. He kept his dis- 
tance. I backed away, hands aloft. 
He had me cut off from the others. 

The last I saw of them they were 
holding their own in a tooth-and-nail 
fight. But I was beyond help. The 
guard ordered me through the door and 
down the corridor. There was no rea- 
son why he shouldn't shoot me out- 
right. One hole more or less through 
the hull of the ship couldn't make much 
difference now. 

But here it was again — the amazing 
sense of duty that these guards held to- 
ward their superiors. Orders were for 
me to go into the experimental slaugh- 
ter-house in room 247, and this guard 
was going to see that I got there. 

That's all I wanted to know. I'd go 
there — but fast. Beginning with the 
next corner I rounded. Measured step 
until then. Perfect obedience. Not a 


MAGNETIC MISS METEOR 


71 


sign of any false intentions. Wasn't I 
simply a captive with no knowledge of 
my fate? 

The next corner — ten steps ahead. 
The scream of escaping air was growing 
louder. Now an alarm was ringing 
through the ship. Pandemonium — 

The corner 1 I flew — two steps and 
a bound, I was through a door. It 
slammed behind me like an explosion. 

I thought it would be blasted open, 
then, with ray-gun fire. But I never 
stopped to see. I raced ahead through 
the dark room, crashing against tables 
and glass tubes. My hands reached out 
in a vain effort to find something that 
would offer a hiding place. Still the 
door did not open. A cool metal wall 
was before me, its sweating moisture 
against my groping hands. The top 
was within reach. If I could climb over 
swiftly this might be the answer. 

I swung myself over. 

Splash! Down I went into a tank 
of water! Or was it oil? At any rate 
I was hidden for the moment. And it 
was a good thing, for just then the 
doors began opening — three or four of 
them from various sides of the room. 

I heard a rush of foosteps, a shout- 
ing of orders. From the talk there must 
have been some individual oxygen tanks 
stored in this room. Above the clamor 
from other parts of the ship I could hear 
the wheels of a small truck rolling out 
of the room, which meant that a supply 
of oxygen was on its way to some 
anxious consumers. 

For my own part I was breathing 
easily again and I liked the patch of 
ceiling above me too well to desire a 
change of scenery. 

CHAPTER X 
Kandaroff on Trial 

TPHE change came, however, in a very 
few minutes. The sounds of sig- 


nals told me that the ship had come to a 
stop at its old port of Venus, safe if not 
quite sound. 

It remained only for me to find Midge 
and Lathrop and get ourselves down 
to the ground a half mile below in the 
most comfortable way possible. 

Midge I found within the next hour. 
He was amazed to find me alive, and 
observed that I resembled a soaked rat. 
Together we dodged guards for the next 
three hours looking for Lathrop. 

He wasn't to be found. We decided 
he must have gotten down to the surface 
somehow. We refused to believe that a 
ray-gun had claimed him. From all 
evidences, the obedient guards must 
have had orders not to shoot inside the 
ship. 

Our feet were on the solid ground of 
Venus again, and there they were des- 
tined to stay until the next year. Some- 
where Ellen was waiting to greet me, 
and I could hardly wait to tell her all 
that had happened. 

A year before a revolution could be 
launched, now that these new men had 
come? 

A full year, Lathrop had said, would 
be required. We who were to take over 
the reins of leadership remembered his 
words. 

And so a year was allowed to pass, 
after our return, before our hopes rose 
and we began to lay out our scheme for 
this action. 

A year made a wonderful and terrify- 
ing difference. Over half of these new- 
comers were gone. They had just not 
been able to stand up under Magnetic 
Miss Meteor's slave-driving system. 

Many had gone up the mountains for 
a change of climate. Always one vic- 
tim at a time, so that there was little 
chance for any widespread violence. 

Now it was known throughout this 
workers' realm what it meant to go over 
the mountain. Other spies, like our- 


72 


AMAZING STORIES 


' selves, had followed to see the tragedy 
for themselves. In more than one case 
it was the guards who did not come 
back. As a result, that old stormy war- 
horse, Kandaroff, was now in the com- 
pany of fifty of the most savage of 
rebels; those who, like himself, had es- 
caped the jaws of death. But Kandaroff 
was no longer spending all his time in 
solitude. He now had four or five "un- 
derground" posts within the main set- 
tlement, and here he would meet the 
various leaders of the revolutionary 
party. 

In short, in the year, earth time, 
Kandaroff had risen to a position of 
prophet and a moving spirit. You could 
feel the fires of hatred when his eyes 
looked at you. You could study his 
deep-lined face and feel the agonies of 
the whip. He had been through 
death; he had come back from it de- 
termined to deliver us. 

r JpHE ship that hovered over us again 
was as good as new, according to 
the rumors. And its tyrannical mis- 
tress was as determined as ever to en- 
slave us, or kill us if we would not 
bend to the yoke. 

Once she sent Novairre down by the 
half-mile elevator to spy on us. He 
came on the pretense of studying the 
meteoroids which hung over our heads 
like a death sentence. 

Novairre did not stay long. From 
a distance he commanded a certain 
respect because of his scientific knowl- 
edge. Rumors of his genius would 
float down to us from time to time. But 
when he showed his face along the 
streets within view of the sweating, 
toiling workmen, his look of dire evil 
aroused an unrest that foreboded mur- 
der. 

Once Novairre inquired the source 
of certain Ions of fresh earth with which 
a ravine was being filled. He was 


openly defied. If Violet Speer wanted 
to know where that dirt came from, 
let her come down and inquire' — if she 
dared. 

Navairre returned to his sky labora- 
tories. In his place came Wilhelm 
Hegoland, the lawyer. 

Hegoland was a big, blustery citizen 
and in the numerous years that he 
had been a part of Violet's society he 
had been her most outspoken champion. 
Now it came to Hegoland that these 
mysterious meetings among the work- 
ers could be stopped He set a trap 
for Kandaroff and caught him. 

"A public trial for Kandaroff!" came 
the amplified announcement from the 
space ship hour after hour. "Kandaroff 
will die; but not until he has revealed 
who saved his life and murdered the 
guards." 

And so the settlement stopped work 
and gathered in the vast space clearing 
beneath the lines of meteoroids. They 
hung oppressively low. Everyone knew 
they could drop without warning. In 
the very first of them, the artificial one, 
was the enormous image of Violet 
Speer — not the statue, but the heartless 
reality. She was sitting on her throne 
on the observation deck. But to all 
of us assembled she seemed imme- 
diately before us as she judged the 
trial. 

"Kandaroff, who saved your life? 
Speak up!" Wilhelm Hegoland barked. 
He and the others stood stiffly in their 
black boots and red uniforms, the sil- 
ver belts and epaulettes glistening. 
Poor old Kandaroff was a shabby crea- 
ture in contrast. There was deep sad- 
ness in his eyes. Before he spoke I was 
sure that he would never give us away. 
But it was a pitiful thing to realize 
what he would do — simply give himself 
away to save our hope of freedom. 

"I was not rescued by any man," he 
said slowly. 


MAGNETIC MISS METEOR 


73 


"A woman, then." 

"What rescued me was no human 
being," he said. 

"Explain yourself,'' Hegoland 
snapped. 

"I was rescued by the native ani- 
mals of this planet, the rajlouts." 

"You lie. How could a rajlout rescue 
you?" 

"Have you seen the big ones?" Kan- 
daroff asked "The ones from across 
the third mountain range, creatures of 
mighty stature who have the feet of 
humans?" 

This brought a murmur of wonder- 
ment from all listeners, and a thrill of 
gratefulness from those of us who knew 
he was lying. Even the expression on 
the magnified face of Violet Speer took 
on a look of bafflement. 

"You lie," said Hegoland steadily. 
"No man has ever been over the third 
range. The original colonists here 
found that the second range was an 
impassable barrier." 

"You will find larger rajlouts beyond 
the third range," said Kandaroff stub- 
bornly. "They have great feet and legs 
like men, and the time will come when 
they will make trouble for this space 
port." 

"How so?" 

"They will release impounded 
waters that will flood this fiat land " 

"What basis have you for these out- 
landish statements?" 

"I have talked with them." 

"Impossible! Even if they had a 
language you couldn't know it. You're 
one with the rest of these workers from 
the Earth who got hooked into coming 
here. Aren't you? Speak up!" 

"You're wrong I was here." 

"So — you're a descendant of the colo- 
nists. So much the worse for you, 
breaking into the peace of our new 
society. But that lie doesn't go. You 
can't show me any early colonist that 


claims to talk with rajlouts." 

"I did not give you my full pedigree," 
said Kandaroff defiantly. 

^THE lawyer ignored this remark. 

He followed what he thought was 
his advantage, angling for a demon- 
stration. 

"Rajlout language! Very well, I'll 
call before the court a few of these 
early colonists and see whether any of 
them can talk it, like you claim you 
can." 

Ellen Kenzie was standing beside 
me, and this suggestion caused her to 
tremble. These lies of Kandaroff had 
been an easy evasion at first, but now 
they threatened to get us into deep 
water. Suppose Hegoland should de- 
cide to call a number of these poor, 
ignorant citizens into this inquisition. 
Suppose he should reveal what they 
thought and felt about Violet Speer's 
rule. Our revolution would be lost 
again, perhaps permanently. Our 
extra arm, the remaining colonists, 
might be sliced off and used as a club 
against us. 

"Can you name two dozen native 
colonists who can speak a language 
understood by the swamp monsters?" 

There was brutal determination in 
Hegoland's voice as he cracked the whip 
of legal prosecude. 

"My people knew the language," said 
Kandaroff calmly, "but you would not 
understand my ancestry." 

The lawyer turned to the guards. 

"Go into the crowds or out to the 
hinterlands and get me the first two 
dozen sons and daughters of colonists 
that you can find." 

CHAPTER XI 

The Lid's OR! 

'""THEY'LL get me!" Ellen whis- 
pered. "Don't let them!" 


AMAZING STORIES 


"Keep close behind me," I said. 
Those of the crowd near us understood 
and they tightened the ranks around 
the two of us to keep Ellen hidden. 

Then Hegoland was shouting some- 
thing at Kandaroff that made every 
one stop and listen, and the guards 
stopped their search just as one of 
them was breaking into our tight cluster 
with his eyes on Ellen. 

"What's that?" Hegoland was shout- 
ing. "What about your pedigree?" 
You say you're a half breed?" 

"I am!" Kandaroff shouted, with the 
surprising power of a lie of desperation. 
Or was it a lie of desperation? 

"I am only half early colonist. The 
other half is from an earlier stock — 
not men!" 

"Then what, if not men?" 
"The half-human breed of rajlouts 
that held this planet before any man 
ever came. The traditions are still in 
my veins. My Wood is green, the 
same as the larger, half-human rajlouts. 
We owned this planet. And I, the 
last of them, still own it!" 

It was at once the noblest and most 
daring lie I had ever heard; it made 
Hegoland gasp with rage and utter con- 
fusion. Then instantly he whipped out 
a knife and said, "We'll see whether 
you're lying. We'll see if your blood 
is grean." 

"I'll prove it," said Kandaroff, and 
he held forth his wrist. 

But as the knife came down toward 
it, Kandaroff's steel fingers came up 
with a vise grip. The knife changed 
hands in a flash. The crowd gasped. 
Instantly the blade swung with the 
swift fire of fury, all of Kandaroff's 
power back of it. It plunged square 
into Hegoland's throat. Then Kan- 
daroff ran. 

r J"'HE guards tried to burst out of the 
crowd. A squad of eight or ten 


had stood by when the others had en- 
tered the crowd looking for colonists. 
This free squad swung up with their 
guns at Kandaroff. 

Nothing could stop them. They 
melted the old man out of existence 
quicker than it can be told. But Kan- 
daroff's work was done. 

Not one of those eight guards lived 
to boast their deed. Other guns were 
in play by this time. Those guns from 
the guards in the crowd had suddenly 
changed hands. All at once the lid was 
off The riot was on, and it was any- 
one's guess who might get killed. 

I myself had the pleasure of turning 
a stream of deadly fire on three of the 
red uniforms. Midge Jupiter was there 
to take his toll. If only Jay Lathrop 
could have been with us ! 

Then a whoosh of breeze against our 
hair told us that the real power was in 
action. The great weapon of Violet 
Speer herself: the hanging meteo- 
roids! Into action they went. 

We fled in a hundred directions. 
They swung their deadly weight like 
pendulum's. One of them, touching its 
curved surface to the ground, swung 
free of the magnetic power and rambled 
off straight down the line. Three 
workers and a gang of boys were rolled 
under. It crashed on across one of the 
low buildings a quarter mile beyond. 

"The trenches!" someone cried out. 
All at once everybody was crying, "The 
trenches! Take to the trenches! " 

For beneath this great floor the work- 
ers had cut tunnels in anticipation of 
a time when these great death balls 
might come swinging down at them. 
Novairre might well have wondered 
where the heaps of freshly dug dirt 
had come from. 

In this construction only a thin sur- 
face remained as the ceiling of each 
tunnel — the floor of the space port 
plane. 


MAGNETIC MISS METEOR 


75 


Now, as the second of the meteoroids 
bounded down at us with a terrific im- 
pact, I saw neat rows of these ceilings 
fall through. The trenches broke into 
being before our eyes like the work of 
a well-planned earthquake, their 
crusted-over surfaces clattering down 
like thin ice. 

I was holding Ellen's hand and we 
raced for the nearest trench, then 
dodged back to take another, for a great 
rolling object, the third to strike, was 
cutting off our path. Almost over us! 
Its flying debris struck my arm, and 
the snap against my fingers was like 
something electric. 

We joined the stampede to our right. 
As we approached the next trench, the 
dust of another rolling monster was 
blowing in our faces. I caught Ellen 
by the waist and swung her down into 
the ditch, tumbling in after her just as 
the great crunching ball swept over us. 
We came up out of the heap, then, 
and I brushed the chunks of earth from 
Ellen's hair as we ran down the trench. 

Then we were safe. From here we 
could watch the ire in the face of Violet 
Speer as she contemplated her troubles. 
Her soldiers were in for a fight. 

J~JOWN came the great elevator cage 
filled with more starchy red and 
silver guards. Our guns held off until 
they swished to the ground. When 
they streamed out of the door, we gave 
them fire. The straight blue bars of 
lightning melted everything in their 
paths. A few of the guards found 
their way to the trenches, but most of 
them vanished. 

Up went the cage. We knew that 
the powers in the ship overhead were 
caught for a strategy. It gave us a 
moment for our own to form. Then 
here came another cage load, forty or 
more of them, leaning over the sides 
pouring their fire at our trenches. 


That was a costly deal for us. Our 
heavy sacrifices had only begun. It ap- 
peared that these forty or so would 
not be unloaded, but would be allowed 
to swing over one trench after another. 

Here came the cage and the luminous 
blue gun streams. I yelled at Midge to 
watch Ellen, for I was going to jump. 
But he was ahead of me, catching the 
side of the elevator cage as it swung 
like a cray pendulum close along the 
surface. Up it went, a foot off the 
ground, just as he caught onto it. A 
cable swung in my direction and I 
grabbed it. Ellen screamed and tried 
to pull me back. 

"No! No! No!" I heard her cry. 

I wouldn't get far unless the gods 
of luck were with me. I saw one of the 
guns aim at me. But someone bobbed 
up beyond me with a stream of fire that 
cut the gunman through the head and 
shoulders. 

The pendulum, a moment at rest, be- 
gan to swing back from the change of 
course of the great ship overhead. It 
was then I discovered that Ellen had 
come up off the ground with me. She 
was clutching my ankle, swinging in 
mid air, and we were going up — up — 

She dared not let go now, but it 
would take a superhuman grip to hold. 
Suddenly she slipped off, and I had 
visions of her falling into the ruins of 
the old government building. The 
sharp-pointed stones jutted upward only 
a few yards beneath the path of her 
fall. How it all happened so quickly 
I'll never know. But Midge, bless his 
heart, somehow kicked one of the dan- 
gling loops of the elevator cable. It 
whipped out to her and she hooked an 
arm over it. 

In three quick hand-over-hand 
strokes I was into the car with Midge. 
Together we tugged at the looped cable. 
Swiftly, steadily, Ellen came up. 
Her sun-browned arm caught over the 


70 


AMAZING STORIES 


edge of the floor. I caught her wrist 
and flung an arm to her waist. And 
then she was with us, safe in the cage. 
Yes, safe, temporarily. Some of our 
sharpshooter friends in the trenches 
had cleared the way for us. The un- 
friendly arms and heads that had shown 
themselves above the cage wall were 
gone. The armless, decapitated bodies 
which now lay on the cage floor were 
as harmless as the red and silver uni- 
forms that adorned them. 

"Quick! Get under the red coats 1" 
I yelled. 

We tore off some garments and cov- 
ered ourselves with them. And then we 
prayed to the gods of luck again — 
prayed that the observers from the big 
ship above us wouldn't know that they 
had taken on a trio of revolutionists. 

CHAPTER XII 
Exit Violet 

gOME of the cables that supported 
us had been cut through from the 
ray blasts. Now another gave way and 
we were tipped to one side of the cage. 
We were going up fast. The engineer 
was determined to draw the cage in be- 
fore he lost it completely. 

Hastily we took what guns we could 
use. We were well supplied by the 
time we reached the top of the ascent. 
The blackness of the doorway closed 
around us. 

A group of guards waited to get in. 
They wasted hardly a glance on us. 
The engineer was shouting at them. 
"You'll have to wait till I get the ele- 
vator fixed. You can't go down there." 

"We had our orders from the boss," 
one of the guards retorted. "Send us 
down." 

"Let the boss give her orders to me," 
the engineer retorted. 

The look in that engineer's eye was 


good to see. Any quarrel among the 
high moguls, I figured, was a boost for 
us. We waited, unnoticed, to catch the 
lay of the land. Plainly this engineer 
had been fed up with being run around 
in circles by the scientific wizard, 
Novairre. 

"Let Violet give me her orders," he 
repeated. "Otherwise the elevator stays 
right where she is." 

At that moment Violet appeared. She 
was in a bad mood, but there was noth- 
ing she wanted so much as cooperation 
from her guards and crew. "What's 
the matter here?" 

"I'm running this ship for you," the 
engineer said. "I'll do anything for 
you. But I've had my fill of taking 
hard-boiled orders from that scientific 
demon." 

"I see." Violet Speer looked wor- 
ried. "Remember, Novairre was the 
one that devised all these things. He 
was the one that formulated the differ- 
ent chemical solutions — " 

"Most of which didn't work. Your 
guards are being killed off like flies." 

"Because they are loyal," said Violet 
Speer. "Without solution D, they'd be 
deserting. Look at them now pour 
into the fray." 

"What about these that came back 
up?" asked the engineer, giving his head 
a toss in our direction. 

Violet Speer's amazed stare was on 
us, a stare that quickly changed to a 
murderous glare. 

All right, my time had come. At least 
I'd go down fighting. Furthermore, be- 
fore I got rubbed out there was a ques- 
tion I wanted answered. What had 
happened to Jay Lathrop? I knew 
he was either dead or a prisoner here in 
the ship all these months past. If he 
was here, I was damned sure he hadn't 
stayed from choice. But I wanted it 
from Violet Speer's own lips. 

"It's you," she said, as if the dis- 


MAGNETIC MISS METEOR 


77 


covery amused her. "So you've come 

back to " 

"To straighten accounts," I snapped. 
"Where is he? What did you do with 
him?" 

1V/TY TWO ray-guns, together with 
•^ Midge's and Ellen's, argued for a 
quick answer, no fooling. The guards 
fell back in a huddle. The engineer's 
eyes grew wide with dismay. He didn't 
like to see his beloved boss theatened. 

"Bring him out," I repeated. "One 
false move and I'll blast you and your 
damned ship into smithereens. Keep 
the engineer covered, Midge." 

"I've got him covered," said Midge, 
"but he keeps coming." 

"If you turn that blast on me," said 
the engineer, "you'll lose the only 
knowledge in existence on how to. man- 
euver this ship. That damned Novairre 
don't know what I know. Your first 
trip through the skies will bring meteor- 
oids crashing into the hull — " 

"To the devil with the ship!" Midge 
cried. "Give us Jay Lathrop or we'll 
blast the whole business to hell 1 " 

Violet Speer reached for her gun. I 
let her have it. It 'most killed me to 
shoot at a woman! Magnetic Miss 
Meteor, whose visits had electrified the 
Earth. I shot her — and I thought I 
saw, if I did not actually see, the horror 
in the eyes of my beloved Ellen that I 
would do such a thing. The engineer 
was lunging at me, but that didn't stop 
me. I shot at Violet Speer. The blue 
death blasted the clothes from her 
statuesque body, blasted the flesh from 
her frame — and then — then there was 
still a living creature that would not 
melt away I 

It was Violet Speer transformed — 
Violet Speer no longer feminine! It 
was Novairre himself I 

"You can't kill me!" The little 
wicked yellow face was grinning defi- 


ance at death. "I've protected myself 
against this moment." 

As well as I knew my own name I 
knew that what he said was true. We 
had seen him stand against the rays just 
as he stood now. By some further 
scientific magic he had concealed his 
evil self within the likeness of a beau- 
tiful woman from time to time through 
these years of his growing power. Vio- 
let Speer — Magnetic Miss Meteor — he 
stood revealed before up now. 

Midge's life, Ellen's and my own 
were in the balance. My brazen attack 
had been foiled, and now a guard — one 
who stood in a paralysis of amazement, 
allowed Novairre to seize his ray gun. 
In that split second the blue death came 
at me in a sure, straight blast. 

My last thought! A hideous realiza- 
tion that I was leaving Ellen in the 
hands of this beast. My last thought 

But was death from a ray-gun not 
instantaneous? Or could it be that my 
mind went on thinking even as the rays 
splashed against my chest? / was not 
dying! Every scrap of clothing disap- 
peared from my shoulders and chest, 
and still I did not melt away. 

At that moment the engineer, once 
faithful follower of Violet, unleashed 
his pent-up hatreds. He plunged for- 
ward with all his power and caught the 
wizard of science by the throat. 

"You've played your last trick, No- 
vairre! You've whipsawed me and 
trapped me between hate and love — 
love for something that didn't exist: 
Violet Speer! The ageless, deathless 
spirit! Deathless? We'll seel" 

"No! No!" Novairre cried. "We 
can work together " 

"Together? You've had your chance 
to show me all about that. If you've got 
any solution to save you from choking 
to death, now's the time!" 

Crunch! The outcries of Novairre 


7S 


AMAZING STORIES 


changed to a low, horrible croaking. 
That went on, and for some astonishing 
reason the guards stood by unmoved. 
They were saturated with a solution of 
loyalty — a loyalty that was meant for 
the voice and form of Violet Speer, not 
the masculine self within. 

Novairre fell lifeless to the floor. 

We stood back wondering what the 
engineer would do next. Were we friend 
or foe? 

JJE TURNED to us slowly and wept 
as he spoke. "For all these years 
I've believed Violet Speer's cruelties 
were forced upon her by Novairre. She 
led me on. I saturated myself with 
the solutions of loyalty — just as you 
guards did — and now " 

''Now you've won the revolution for 
us," came the quiet voice of Jay Lath- 
rop, coming in past the silent guards. 
"You and these friends of mine who 
dared to come up." 

Some of the guards, looking down at 
the trenches, weren't so sure. 

"They're still fighting down there, 
sir," one of them said, and the respect 
with which he addressed Jay Lathrop 
was notable. "You see, sir, our com- 
panions don't know that she's gone — I 
mean ke " 

Another guard suggested, "Can't you 
use the television screen, sir, and tell 
them?" 

These were telltale words. The rev- 
olution had been going on all the time 
up here. I should have known it. Jay 
Lathrop was the natural leader, the kind 
that earns loyalty by his fairness. How- 
he had escaped the treacheries of No- 
vairre we might never know. But here 

THE 


he was, very much alive and very much 
needed. 

Lathrop called down through the am- 
plifier and gave forth with powerful 
words that terminated all the conflict. 
That for which the people were fighting 
was already won! Coming from Jay 
Lathrop, echoing the unforgotten bat- 
tlecry of old man Kandaroff, these good 
tidings jolted the Venus settlement with 
something more powerful than falling 
meteors. 

Meanwhile, Ellen recalled that her 
people had an old legend about a leader 
named Hitler whose evil heart led him 
to make depredations upon civilization. 
"The legend ended," said Ellen, "in an 
awful tragedy for him." 

"Did they finally choke him?" the 
engineer asked. 

"The whole world moved in upon him 
and choked the life out of him and his 
followers." 

Far down below us the fighting had 
ceased. Man's eternal ideas of freedom 
and good will and fair play were to be 
restored for this planet's coming civili- 
zation. 

Ellen turned to me, and so did Lath- 
rop. They wanted an explanation. 
"How was it you escaped death from the 
atomic gun?" 

"I don't know," I said. "I don't un- 
derstand it — unless it was from that 
time a guard chased me here on the 
ship, and I tumbled into a vat of 
liquid." 

"Solution E!" said Midge. "I won- 
der if there's any left. I could use a 
bath myself. . . . But on second thought, 
skip it. I might get the wrong bath 
and turn into a violet." 

END 


BUY WAR BONDS 

Don't let the cost of this war pile up a huge mountain of debt that will rob your 
children of a chance to be happy and to live the life that ii rightfully theirsl 

PAY YOUR OWN WAY TO VICTORY AND PEACE! 


AMA2ING STORIES 


79 


* HOME MADE SUBMARINES * 

By AL HERMAN 


SINCE the silver water beetle larvae have no 
gills, it is not possible for them to utilize the 
oxygen contained in the water. The silver 
water beetle must now solve a very ticklish prob- 
lem indeed— namely, how to get air to her larvae 
underwater. 

The silver water beetle has found a unique solu- 
tion to this perplexing problem. She has devised 
a home made submarine, as efficient in serving 
madame beetle's needs as the submarine made by 
man. This underwater house is spun from silk 
and attached to water weeds under the surface. 
A tube extends from this silk hut to the free air 
above the surfa« of water. When the larvae eggs 
hatch, the larvae can get all the fresh air they 
need by virtue of its long ventilating tube. 

One of the greatest mysteries is bow the mother 
beetle knows how high above the water level to 
construct this ventilating tube — for if a wave 
should enter and flood the submarine house below, 
the beetle larvae are sure to die. To this question 
no one seems to have an answer. Mrs. Beetle, 
perhaps by intuition, just seems to know the 
height of water waves about her ventilating tube 


and rarely does she miss her delicately balanced 
calculations. 

The silver water beetle is not the only insect 
to make use of an underwater device. A certain 
aquatic spider, Argyronita Aquatica, to the scien- 
tist, also builds a silk underwater contraption. 
The spider's home looks more like a silk diving 
bell, actually, it is an inverted silk hemisphere 
with space inside for air. Instead of depending 
upon an air tube for the air supply in her under- 
water diving bell, the spider emerges to the sur- 
face when the air supply is getting low and gets 
her own air to take back home. 

The method with which the spider carries air 
to her underwater bell is very amazing. The spider 
actually traps molecules of air between the tiny 
hair fibres of her body when she emerges from 
the water. When the spider again gets into her 
diving bell she seems capable of removing those 
air molecules from inside her hair and filling up 
the air space of the diving bell with air. 

In the case of the spider the setup is purely a 
defensive gesture. It affords him the greatest secu- 
rity from enemies. 


Why Man's Prayers 

Did Not Stop Hitler 


Millions of people daily practice meditation, 
prayer, new thought and other spiritual exer- 
rises. For many years people of good will have 
been praying for the overthrow of Hitler, Hiro- 
hito and what they stand for. Why haa the an- 
swer been so long delayed? Why do so many 
other prayers remain unanswered? Why does 
calamity often befall us in spite of our prayers? 

Thirty years ago, in Forbidden Tibet, behind 
the highest mountains in the world, a young Eng- 
lishman named Edwin J. Dingle found the an- 
swers to these questions. A great mystic opened 
his eyes. A great change came over him. He re- 
alized the strange Power that Knowledge gives. 

That Power, be says, can transform the life of 
anyone. Questions, whatever they are, can be 
answered. The problems of heafth, death, pov- 
erty and wrong can be solved. 

In his own case he was brought back to splen- 
did health. He acquired wealth, too, as well as 
world-wide professional recognition. Thirty years 
ago he was sick as a man could be and live. Once 
his coffin was bought. Years of almost continu- 
ous tropical fevers, broken bones, near blindness, 
privation and danger had made a human wreck of 
him, physically and mentally. 

He was about to be sent Sack to England to die 
when a strange message came— '"They are wait- 


ing for you in Tibet." 
He wants to tell the 
whole world what he 
learned there -under the 
guidance of the greatest 
mystic he ever encoun- 
tered during his 2 1 
years in the Far East. 
He wants everyone to 
experience the greater 
health and the Power 
which there came to him. 

Within 10 years he 
was able to retire to 
this country with a for- 
tune. He had been 
honored by fellowships 



the World's leading 


geographical societies for his work as a geographer. 
And today, 30 years later, he is still so athletic, 
capable of so much work, so young in appearance, 
it is hard to bebeve he has lived so long. 

As a first step in their progress toward the 
Power that Knowledge jpves, Mr. Diugle wants to 
send to readers of this notice a 9, 000-word treatise. 
It is free. For your free copy, send your name 
and address to the Institute of Mcntalphysics, 213 
South Hobart Blvd.. Dept. H-195, Lo; Angeles 4, 
Calif. Write promptly. 

{Advertisement) 


past mo, danling me to ne ar-blind nesi 


JIM GARFIELD sauntered from his 
ulna.' and hesitated between going 
outride for a cigarette ur entering 
the projection room. He chose the lat- 
ter, lie wandered down the hail to the 
door marked, Keep Out Prnjn Uon 
Studio, and went in. The room was 


dark. Walter Marsh leaned over a 
small scanning machine in the far 
corner, a single bulb lighting his lace. 

''Walter." Garfield said cheerfully, 
"why in hell don't you gel out tor :< 
little sunshine once in a while," 

Marsh straightened quickly, startled 


by Garfield's voice. He had been in- 
tent on the Mm. 

'Hello, Jim." Marsh turned off the 
machine and pressed the switch that 
lighted the small studio. He blinked 
uuc!> r she brilliance oi l he light. "Tak- 
ing another look ut thai Jap film. The 


Government thinks it's pretty im- 
portant." 

Garfield sauntered down the short 
aisle of the studio and flopped into an 
easy chair. 

"But why use the scanning ma- 
chine?" he protested. "Thai tUin ..as 


82 


AMAZING STORIES 


one of the finest sound jobs I ever 
made. Spent six months in Japan, be- 
fore the war, filming it. What can you 
get out of it without hearing the sound 
track?" 

Marsh shrugged. He admired Gar- 
field for his six feet of poise and easy- 
going handsomeness. He wondered, 
however, how long it would take to 
pound a point into Jim's head. 

"Our old argument coming up again, 
I see," he said. "I've told you a hun- 
dred times that I don't need to hear 
the sound track. If I see it in the scan- 
ning machine, that's enough." 

Garfield place a long leg over the 
arm of his chair and scowled. 

"Wait a minute," he said. "Might 
as well settle this myth of yours for all 
time. Prove it." 

"Prove what?" Marsh asked. 

"That you can tell every sound, every 
bit of conversation by scanning the 
track. Brother, I've got to be shown, 
and it'll be worth a free lunch for the 
man who can show me." 

Marsh grinned. It was a good-na- 
tured grin that marked him as the lover 
of a joke. Marsh had the ability to 
laugh at himself as readily as at the 
next fellow. 

"All right," he said. "I haven't 
seen the film for a couple of years. 
Suppose you start the machine, cover 
the image with your hand and let me 
tell you 'what goes' on the sound 
track?" 

Garfield frowned, got to his feet a 
little reluctantly and went to the scan- 
ner. While he started the motor, 
Marsh switched out the studio light 
once more. The projection-room was 
warm and the running film sent up the 
pleasant odor of hot celluloid. Garfield 
masked the picture with his hand. 

"Go ahead, master mind," he in- 
vited. "I'm ready." 

Marsh leaned close to the machine, 


squinting at the wavering sound-track 
on the edge of the film. He chuckled. 

"This is a scene of Mount Asama 
erupting," he said. "Lots of lava, 
smoke, and all that." 

The studio was silent for several 
seconds. The film clicked along 
rapidly. 

"Try again," Garfield invited. 
Marsh glanced up. His smile was 
gone. 

"I don't get it," he admitted. 
Garfield laughed. 
"Give up?" 

Marsh leaned over the machine 
again. 

"Don't get me wrong," he said. "I 
can read the track all right. I just 
don't understand where this scene came 
from. It has nothing to do with the 
Japanese takes. Seems to be a conver- 
sation between a couple of old settlers. 
I'd say from the track that they're 
somewhere in Alaska." 

Garfield removed his hand quickly. 

"How the hell . . .?" His eyebrows 
lifted. 

Walter Marsh stared at the exposed 
film. It was an Alaskan scene. Two 
trappers were standing before a snow- 
drifted store. He stepped away from 
the machine and turned on the lights. 

"Does that prove anything?" he 
asked. 

Jim Garfield was completely over- 
whelmed. 

"You're damned right it does," he 
admitted ruefully. "It proves that I 
tacked that northern scene on just to 
catch you. It didn't work. By golly, 
Walter, you're a whizz." 

Marsh was already busy rewinding 
the film. 

"I've been in this game for a long 
time," he said. "I don't know what 
good it does me to read that track, but 
it wins bets and buys dinners." 

Garfield started slowly up the aisle. 


CROSSED WIRES 


83 


toward the door. He turned his head. 

"Which reminds me," he said. "I'm 
hungry. Leave the film until we have 
time for a bite of lunch. I guess it's 
on me." 

D EX HUNTER, gray-haired and in 
his fifties, stared with admiration 
at the girl across the table. 

"Kid," he said admiringly, "every 
time I take you out, you manage to 
dress more stunningly. Who buys your 
clothes?" 

Phyllis Hunter's eyes twinkled. 

rt I ought to slap your face for that 
remark, Dad. You picked this outfit 
yourself. It is nice." 

Hunter picked up his cocktail, took a 
long swallow and placed the empty glass 
on the cloth. 

"A beautiful girl of twenty-three, 
slim as a pursuit plane and covered 
from neck to foot with silver sequins. 
Girl, you're more like your mom every 
day. There was a doll." 

Phyllis' eyes grew misty. 

"She must have been lovely, Dad." 

Rex Hunter's face grew a shade more 
solemn. The crow's feet in the corners 
of his gray eyes deepened. 

"Two of the grandest women in the 
world." His hand crept across the 
table and dropped on Phyllis' slim fin- 
gers. "Two from the same mold." 

Phyllis broke the spell. 

"Come now, enough dreaming. You 
were going to tell me about Uncle Sam 
and all the money Talking News is go- 
ing to make." 

Hunter frowned. 

"Take it easy, kid." He lowered his 
voice. "About that money. I've de- 
cided to skip the cash deal and make 
the Government a present of that film." 

Phyllis looked almost relieved. She 
leaned across the table, lips parted in 
a pleased oval. 

"Ohl Dad, I'm glad. They could 


have demanded the film for nothing, 
but they offered you lots of money for 
it. It's darn near noble of you to turn 
the money down." 

Rex Hunter flushed. 

"Not noble," he said. "Just my 
way of buying bonds. You see, Uncle 
Sam needs that film. The pictures were 
taken during peace-time. It shows al- 
most every strategic coastal spot, city 
and town in Japan. Jim Garfield took 
it several years back and there's a lot 
of money tied up in it. It's been locked 
up since the war started. If Uncle Sam 
needs it, we'll deliver it free of charge." 

Phyllis' eyes lifted suddenly toward 
the door of the Silver Grill. 

"Speak of the devil," she said in a 
pleased voice. "Jim's coming in now 
with Walter Marsh, old 'darkroom dy- 
namite' himself." 

I.TUNTER turned and caught sight of 
the pair. He held up his hand, 
waited for Garfield to see him, then mo- 
tioned them both to his table. Jim Gar- 
field's eyes flashed with pleasure. The 
two men came toward them through the 
maze of tables. 

Hunter turned to his daughter. 

"You lay off Marsh," he said threat- 
eningly. "He may be quiet and all 
that, but he's okay." 

Phyllis shrugged. 

"Any man who can stay in that pro- 
jection room with me when a feature 
length picture is running, without try- • 
ing to wolf a kiss, isn't a man." She 
shrugged, a devilish grin on her lips. 
"He's part of the film, that's all." 

Hunter chuckled. 

"Part of the film?" he said. "Yes, I 
guess Walter is almost a part of the 
film." 

"And a mighty dull part at that," 
Phyllis had a parting shot as Marsh 
and Garfield reached the table. 

"Sit down, fellows," Hunter said. 


84 


AMAZING STORIES 


"Say, Marsh, do you think the original 
of that Japanese masterpiece is in good 
shape?" 

"I like that masterpiece business," 
Jim Garfield interrupted. "That 
couldn't be a crack against your best 
photographer?" 

A laugh went around the table, and 
Marsh answered Hunter. 

"It will de," he said. "I'd suggest 
that we make a copy and keep the origi- 
nal. Might be a good idea to lock it 
in the jnorgue." 

Hunter's brows lifted slightly and 
Phyllis chuckled. She turned to Gar- 
field. 

"Isn't that just like Walter?" she 
asked. "He'll protect your film. I 
didn't know you were that good." 

If Walter Marsh noticed the sarcasm 
in her voice, he ignored it. 

"I'll feel better if it's locked up," he 
said. "I looked that film over carefully 
this morning. I find it's even better 
than I remembered. Jim didn't miss 
one point of military importance. The 
coastal scenes — the Tokyo layout — are 
all perfect. It's just possible that the 
Japs themselves might like to get hold 
of the film." 

Hunter swore softly. 

"I had thought of that." He leaned 
forward. "The F.B.I, will pick up the 
original tonight. Meanwhile I'll call 
them and tell them what you're doing. 
Run off another copy of the entire film, 
pack it carefully, and lock it up." 

Jim Garfield had started a private 
conversation with Phyllis. 

"Probably the prettiest dress I've 
ever seen," he was saying. "Say, have 
you two business men finished your con- 
ference? If you have, let's eat. I owe 
Walter the best meal money can buy." 

Phyllis Hunter looked surprised. 

"You owe Walter?" 

Garfield nodded. 

"I'd like to tell you about it." 


"Jim," Walter Marsh protested 
quickly, "you promised it was between 
you and me." 

Phyllis looked displeased and Hunter 
himself wondered what it was all about. 

"Now, now," he chided. "No secrets 
in the organization." 

"Yes," Phyllis pouted, "tell us, Jim. 
Walter can't have all the fun." 

TV/TARSH reddened. He had admired 
Phyllis Hunter for years. From 
the first, he had never quite been able 
to figure her out. Why did she so often 
go out of her way to bait him? 

"Please forget it," he begged. "Just 
a little bet between Jim and myself." 

"It's not the bet that's worth men- 
tioning," Jim Garfield said. "It's the 
way he won it. How many people do 
you know who can read a sound track?" 

"Read " Phyllis gasped. "You 

mean — without a speaker?" 

"Right," Jim said. "And to prove 
that Walter's a whizz I'll tell you why 
he's going to eat a free steak." 

Marsh lapsed into silence. Nothing 
would stop Jim Garfield until the story 
was told. 

"And that business about the Alaskan 
scene convinced me," Garfield finished. 
"I've never seen anything like it." 

"But what possible good can it do?" 
she said. "Unless Mr. Marsh is get- 
ting to the state where he can't even 
stand sound." 

Her father shot her a warning glance 
but it was too late. 

"My idea exactly, Miss Hunter." 
Walter Marsh stood up. "Some sounds 
annoy me a great deal. If you'll excuse 
me, I'll leave." 

He turned and left the table. 

Phyllis half rose, then sank down 
again, bewilderment on her face. 

"Why the poor child," she said. "He's 
easily hurt, isn't he?" 

Rex Hunter winced. 


CROSSED WIRES 


85 


"You've been after him pretty steadi- 
ly tor a long time now," he said quietly. 
"He may be easy-going, but you'll see 
a different side of Walter Marsh from 
now on. The completely frozen side." 

"As if I cared," the girl snapped. 
"Let him sulk if he wants to." 

The waiter came and, as Jim Garfield 
ordered, Phyllis drew out her compact 
hurriedly. With the mirror she could 
see Marsh's back as he left the restau- 
rant. Then she caught her father star- 
ing at her, a steady grin on his face. 
She dropped the compact hurriedly into 
the bag once more. 

"These silent men are hard to get 
around, aren't they, kid?" he said. 
"You're mother chased me for months 
before I caught her." 

pETER FALLOW stepped from the 
car, tossed away a cigar butt and 
climbed the broad steps to the entrance 
of the Talking News building. He had 
orders to see Rex Hunter at six-thirty. 
Fallow never missed a date by more 
than half a minute, nor did more than 
that amount of time ever pass without 
a cigar between his thin lips. He ad- 
justed his hat carefully, made a me- 
chanical gesture to brush his coat lapels, 
and rang the night bell. Somewhere in 
the darkening hall he heard a bell ring 
clearly. 

As he waited, Fallow lighted a fresh 
cigar and checked the address with the 
notebook he drew from his pocket. 

"Talking News, 1145 Lockwood," 
he mumbled. "Right place, all right." 

He rang again, then turned toward 
George Wicker, his companion, who 
waited in the coupe. 

"Can't get a rise out of 'em," he 
called. 

Wicker, a dark-faced, slightly plump 
young man with a scarred lip, grinned 
from behind the wheel. 

"If at first you don't succeed," he 


yodeled. "Try it again, Fallow." 

Fallow applied his thumb to his nose 
and then to the bell again. He left it 
there for several seconds. 

Suddenly he stiffened. The shadow 
of a man was visible against the frosted 
glass of an inner window. Then it van- 
ished. Fallow had that sixth sense 
that tells a man when something is 
amiss. He knocked loudly against the 
plate glass door, then pushed against it. 
To his surprise the door opened. He 
stepped inside quickly, his hand sinking 
into his right pocket. He moved along 
the carpeted hall on his toes, fingers 
tight on the grip of his automatic. 

Somewhere ahead of him a door 
slammed. 

Fallow moved on. At the far end of 
the building, the hall turned right to a 
small door at the side wall. That door 
was just closing. Fallow, sure now that 
something was wrong, started to run. 
He reached the door, pushed it open 
and stepped out into a small flower- 
garden. A high wall hid the alley. Fal- 
low ran along the flag-stone path, 
reached the gate and pushed it open. 

He started to run into the alley, then 
crouched flat against the wall. A dark 
sedan roared past him, throwing gravel 
into his face. The wheels missed him 
by inches. Before he could regain his 
balance, the car careened into the street 
on two wheels. 

He had one good look at the man be- 
hind the wheel, and he was sure that 
he'd recognize that face again if he 
ever saw it. 

Fallow wiped his forehead and re- 
traced his footsteps into the studio. He 
had first seen the shadow in an office 
toward the front of the building. He 
reached the door, and read the legend 
aloud. 

Rex Hunter. 

Fallow frowned. 

"Now that's funny — damned funny." 


AMAZING STORIES 


He wasn't knocking any more. He 
twisted the knob and walked in. 

r^EORGE WICKER grew tired of 
waiting in the car. He climbed 
wearily from behind the wheel, adjusted 
his trousers to a less binding position 
and ambled up the steps. He reached 
the door as Peter Fallow shot through 
it. Fallow's face was twisted with 
anger. 

"We got business for ourselves this 
time," he said. "Real business. There's 
a dead man lying across the desk in 
there. I think it's Rex Hunter." 

"Cripes!" Wicker's face turned an 
ugly red. 

"Cripes is right," Fallow said sourly. 
"And I let the murderer walk out right 
under my nose. He damned near killed 
me too. Wait till I get my hands on 
him." 

Vy ALTER MARSH was aware of a 
dull pounding in his head. He 
groaned, rolled over and sat up. He 
moistened his lips with his tongue. With 
his hand he tried to rub away the pain, 
but it came again, pounding through his 
entire nervous system. 

He passed his hand over his eyes. Al- 
though they were wide open, he couldn't 
see. 

Yet there was something. 

A fleeting mass of light passed across 
his eyeballs. First a flash of bright red, 
and a roar in his ears as though a comet 
were flashing past him. Then a low- 
crackling sound, and more flashes, this 
time, pink and yellow in quick succes- 
sion. 

He shook his head violently from side 
to side, trying to regain some feeling or 
movement that was familiar. It was 
useless. 

From the texture under his finger 
tips, he knew that he was lying in deep 
grass. He felt the grass between his 


fingers. His body was stretched out 
on the side of a steep slope. 

Marsh leaned back slowly, arm over 
his eyes, and everything was silent. 
Dead silent. The lights continued to 
flash, playing like rainbows across the 
inner side of his eye balls. 

"Can't understand," he murmered. 
"Rex dead — hit on the head . . . Can't 
— understand?" 

He didn't attempt to move again for 
a long time. The lights continued to 
flash, even though his eyes were 
covered. He removed the hand from 
them. Once, when he moved his arm 
quickly, he was sure that a quick shower 
of yellow sparks arose. He had brushed 
his fingers across a pebble, sending it 
scuttling downward. He could feel that 
— yet not see it. 

Everything he felt with his hands was 
normal. Yet he saw or heard nothing 
that he could understand. With his 
hand away from his eyes, a series of 
popping sounds exploded in his ear- 
drums. He covered his eyes and the 
sounds stopped. 

Puzzled, he sat up again, and repeated 
the performance a number of times, 
each time with the same result. 

It was evident that he had under- 
gone a shock that had unbalanced him 
in some manner. Although he could 
see lights, evidently he was not actu- 
ally seeing them. At least not with his 
eyes. He saw the light even though 
his eyes were closed. 

Still, those sounds. 

"Maybe," he said. "It's just poss 

He placed two fingers tightly inside 
his ears, shutting off all chance of hear- 
ing. 

At once the lights went out. 

No longer could he see, but the jum- 
bled sounds kept coming through. So 
many sounds that he could make no 
sense from them. 


CROSSED WIRES 


87 


"Got to get out of here." He stum- 
bled to his feet and a flash of red and 
yellow burst from below him as he 
slipped forward and fell into the bottom 
of the ditch. He lay panting, fright- 
ened. 

Gradually the new world he was in 
seemed to come to life. If the lights 
and sounds he had experienced before 
had bewildered him, now the strain was 
terrible. Lying flat on his back, Marsh 
made no attempt to move. He was too 
exhausted, too bewildered. 

(~* RADUALLY his ear-drums became 
accustomed to the noise, and his 
brain started to sort out the colored 
images that came and went in his new 
field of vision. 

It was as though a silent symphony 
started to play, and color instead of 
music came to him. First the low, steady 
vibration of deep purple and blood red, 
giving away slowly to little jagged lines 
of yellow, green and lighter shades. Oc- 
casionally, he was startled by flashes of 
solid color or flying sparks that blotted 
out everything, and were gone. 

During all this explosion of color, the 
sounds that came to him grew more and 
more powerful. Sounds that could be 
sorted into thousands of vibrations. 
Whistles, the roar of the surf, the steady 
pounding of a hammer. The sounds 
grew and grew in cresendo, at first tiny, 
like the sound of a flute, gradually loud- 
er as other tones added themselves, 
until at last he had to hold both hands 
over his eyes and blot out the roaring, 
upheaval of noise in his' head. 

Still, Walter Marsh had no clear un- 
derstanding of what had happened. He 
got to his feet. As he moved forward 
struggling up a steep incline, he saw 
more sparks and heard new sounds. 
The quick flash of red accompanied by 
an exploding rocket. 

Could he be dead? Was this the new 


way of life beyond the ken of men? 

His feet struck something smooth and 
he walked more easily. Now his feet 
sent up a steady shower of green at 
every step. 

Another flash of light and another 
rocket, crashing closer to him this time. 
Grimly he moved forward, both hands 
outstretched before him. 

Then his eyes caught a rocket flash 
as it slowed down and seemed to move 
slowly past him. It returned, pausing 
in front of him. There came a steady 
sputtering of green light, blotting out 
the rest, vibrating with color. The 
sounds in his ears were regular — like 
the noise of a telegraph key sending a 
single word over and over. 

Then something familiar, the first 
thing Walter Marsh had yet understood, 
flashed. across his line of vision. 

The wavering, black line of a movie 
sound track. 

"What's wrong, mister? Can't you 
see?" 

Marsh uttered a cry of relief. At last, 
when he had given up hope of ever 
finding a thing he could grasp, he knew 
what had happened. 

The track quivered and pulsated 
amid the color that was in his eyes. 

He didn't hear the voice. 

There was no sound to it. 

He read it. Read it from the tiny 
sound-line that came into that field of 
color. 

"I'm — I'm blind," he managed to cry 
out. "An — accident ..." 

He couldn't hear his own voice, but 
he could see it. 

"I'm — I'm blind ..." 

It was all there, recorded momen- 
tarily amid the mass of light. A single, 
wriggling line of black. A line that he 
had learned to read years ago. 

"We'd better get off the road." There 
was a person standing before him, he 
knew. "I'll give you a lift. Where are 


88 


AMAZING STORIES 


you going? I'll take you there." 

Marsh read the line of sound again, 
but he didn't dare tell the truth. He 
couldn't tell anyone the truth. 

But he knew now. 

"I'd like to get back into town," he 
said. "Talking News studio." 

His own voice, and the answer was 
visible almost at once. 

"Let me help you into the car." A 
strong hand on his arm. He stumbled 
toward the exploding mass of green 
light, struck something that caused a 
smaller shower of yellow, and climbed 
into a car. 

"What the hell happened?" 

Marsh leaned forward, knowing he 
must interrupt every word and answer 
each question carefully. He couldn't 
afford to slip now, at least not for the 
present. 

"Car hit me and I was stunned," he 
said. "I'll be all right." 

t_IE SAT very still, waiting, wonder- 
ing. He had to get back. He 
remembered now: the film — Rex Hun- 
ter dead — he was sure they had stolen 
the film. 

What chance did he have? He had 
never seen the person who attacked him. 
He'd have to make sure the other film 
was safe, that Rex's death did not go 
unavenged. 

He had a new, a baffling problem to 
face. 

He would be able to interpret the 
lights, the sound track, by studying 
them carefully. Much of it he already 
knew. How could he learn to under- 
stand the sounds in his ears? The 
sounds that came from what he saw? 

He remembered that, as he faced 
the man on the road, there had been 
a tiny series of high pitch notes, like 
repeated blasts on a tiny whistle. A 
person's eyes were bright. Perhaps 
a bright blue light would give that 


sound. He'd remember that. The next 
time he faced anyone, he'd listen. That 
would be a way of telling when he was 
looking at another man or woman. Per- 
haps the sounds would vary in pitch. 
He might even learn to tell who he 
faced. 

The rockets, Marsh thought, were 
automobiles passing him on the high- 
way. Their motors grew noisy, then 
faded quickly in a distance. That 
caused the sudden flash of light, varying 
in shade according to the speed at which 
they passed. The crashing, sputtering 
sounds were caused by the colors of 
those same cars. 

He had been stretched out in a ditch. 
At first it had been quiet, and the colors 
had been even and light. The sounds 
had risen until he could hardly stand 
the volume. Then the rockets (or cars) 
had passed in a steady stream. 

Sunrise? 

He had witnessed a sunrise, and the 
gradual growth of traffic along the road. 
He had struggled to his feet, climbed 
out of the ditch and moved across the 
road. The motorist had seen him and 
stopped, backed up and picked him up. 

So excited was Marsh at deciphering 
this chain of events, that he almost 
forgot what was happening. 

Not once since he entered the car 
had the sounds or the lights vanished. 
They varied from second to second, and 
gradually, because he was most familiar 
with the sound track, he managed to 
decipher an occasional color that re- 
corded itself in his eyes. 

The far-away quiver of a factory 
whistle — the widely arranged see-saw 
lines of a rumbling train. 

His ears recorded a sound that went 
with every color. 

The train, evidently passing across 
the road before them, sent out showers 
of sound that splashed his vision with 
deep purple. It's burnished steel and 


CROSSED WIRES 


89 


painted freight cars sent a changing set 
of whistling noises into his ears. Then 
its whistle blew again, and he studied 
the wavery line once more, recognizing 
it at once. 

He was conscious of that same tiny 
whistle sent by blinking eyes — and 
knew the driver was staring at him. 
Marsh wondered if it were man or wo- 
man. He couldn't be sure, although he 
felt it was the first. Marsh smiled. 

"I wonder if you really want to re- 
turn to Talking News?" the unsteady 
sound-track asked. 

Marsh frowned, then nodded. 

"If you don't mind," he said. 

The same warning signal of the flash- 
ing eyes, perhaps a little louder, then a 
new tone. Marsh was to learn the sound 
that white teeth made when a grin 
parted a person's lips. Then a little 
flash of pink light as the driver 
chuckled. 

"Incidentally," the sound track said, 
"I haven't introduced myself. I'm Pete 
Fallow of the F. B.> I. I'm taking you 
in for the murder oj Rex Walterst 

'JpHERE was a thick rug on the floor 
of the hospital waiting room, with 
green lines woven from end to end. Up 
and down these lines Pete Fallow 
moved in an endless march. The cigar 
hung forgotten between his lips. He 
stopped once in a while to fire another 
sentence toward the pair who watched 
him impatiently from the divan. 

"Either the guy is blind, or he's a 
good actor," Fallow said sourly. "And 
no more cracks about my sight. He's 
the one I'm after, all right." 

Phyllis Hunter, dry-eyed but looking 
as though she hadn't slept for a week, 
stared at Jim Garfield. Garfield sat 
thoughtfully, his knees crossed, crease 
carefully smoothed in his trousers. 

"We can't reason with him," he nod- 
ded toward Fallow. "Better leave him 


alone. He'll come to his senses eventu- 
ally." 

"But— Walter didn't kill Dad. We 
know that." 

Fallow stopped his pacing and 
slumped down wearily at her side. 

"And just how do you know it, 
lady?" 

Phyllis shrugged. 

"Walter Marsh didn't want that 
film," she said stubbornly. "He could 
have made a dozen copies of it. Why 
would he shoot Dad and run away with 
something he could have stolen with- 
out any of us knowing?" 

Fallow shook his head. 

"There was some other reason," he 
said. "Marsh got rid of your father, all 
right. He's the boy I saw drive away 
when I ran out the back way. Damned 
near killed me." 

"But " 

"No buts about it, lady. The doc- 
tor's taking a good look at Marsh right 
now. When he's finished, I'm taking 
him down town for a nice question and 
answer party." 

A nurse appeared at the inner door. 
As she stood there, waiting for Fallow- 
to stop talking, Phyllis could see Wal- 
ter Marsh leaning on an intern's arm, 
walking slowly toward them. Phyllis 
was on her feet in an instant. Garfield 
arose more slowly. The nurse drew 
Pete Fallow to one side. 

"You are to let Mr. Marsh go free for 
the time being. He's in no condition, 
to be hounded." 

"You mean the Doc said he ain't to 
be arrested?" Fallow demanded. 

The nurse's fingers closed tightly on 
his arm. 

"Be quiet," she said sternly. "The 
poor boy has suffered a terrible shock. 
There isn't a doctor in the hospital who 
understands just what happened to him. 
I believe hell work it out by himself 
in a few weeks. There's nothing we can 


90 


AMAZING STORIES 


do. Meanwhile you are to let him go 
free." 

Fallow swore under his breath. 

"Playing nurse-maid to a blind man, 
and T'm not even sure he's blind." 

The nurse's lips closed tightly. 

"Doctor Hallgrove wants to talk 
with you," she said. "Mr. Marsh can 
return home with his friends. I think 
you'll be glad to leave Mr. Marsh alone 
when you know the entire story." 

ALLOW followed the nurse through 
the door into the room Marsh had 
just left. He tried to avoid Marsh, but 
Walter put a hand on Pete Fallow's 
shoulder. 

"You're Peter Fallow, aren't you?" 
His voice was faltering. 

Fallow stared into Marsh's eyes, 
blinked a couple of times and caught 
himself. 

"That's all right," Marsh went on. 
"You are the same man who picked me 
up on the road. I know about Rex's 
death. You'll have my co-operation. 
Let me know when I can help you." 

Fallow gulped. 

"How in hell " 

" — can I tell you who you are when 
I'm blind?" Marsh smiled a little sadly. 
"I've learned the sound your eyes 
make," he said. "They're bright blue 
the nurse says. Blue makes a high 
pitched whistle. I'll have no trouble 
recognizing you from now on." 

Fallow stepped back, amazed. 

"See what I mean," the nurse said, 
and led the detective into an inner office. 

Behind him, Marsh chuckled. Fal- 
low didn't hear the conversation that 
followed because the door closed and 
he faced Doctor Hallgrove. 

ALTER MARSH had straight- 
ened out a number of things dur- 
ing the hours he had talked with Doc- 
tor Hallgrove. A case of crossed wires, 


Hallgrove called it, and tried to explain. 

Marsh was with Phyllis and Jim 
Garfield now. They were talking to him 
eagerly, yet slowly, realizing how diffi- 
cult communication was, and hoping to 
help him in every way possible. 

Marsh pushed Phyllis away gently 
when she tried to lead him down the 
steps to the car. Garfield, knowing the 
blind man would resent any intrusion 
into his strange new world, talked as 
matter of factly was possible, ignoring 
the difficulty Marsh had in finding his 
way into the car. 

"I have the only key to the film 
morgue," Marsh said, when they were 
seated in the car. "It's hidden at the 
studio. I imagine the F. B. I. will ask 
for it. I'll let them in." 

An awkward silence followed. Gar- 
field started the car and they slipped 
out into traffic. 

"Probably ought to lock that film in 
a vault somewhere," Garfield suggested. 

Marsh nodded. 

"Let me know what they want. I'll 
be on hand when they ask for it." 

He wondered if they'd try to kill him 
now, because he knew how to get at 
the second film. Probably not. There 
was no way for an outsider to know 
that a copy had been made. 

"Phyllis." Marsh's voice was low, a 
trifle bitter. 

Her hand touched his arm. 

"I — I want you to know I didn't kill 
Rex," Marsh said. 

He felt her shiver slightly and take 
away her hand. When it returned, her 
fingers were moist. She was crying. 

The girl's voice on the sound track 
was uncertain, quivering. 

"I know you didn't, Walter." 

Marsh tried to unravel the sounds 
and colors he was receiving. 

The car stopped often at intersec- 
tions. He knew when the traffic halted 
and when the lights changed. Green, 


amber and red produced steady, widely 
varied sound signals and the sound of 
moving cars produced simple, easily un- 
derstood color signals. 

"It's odd," he said finally. "Fallow 
working on the case, and finding me out 
there in the country. God knows how 
I got there." 

He was aware of movement at his 
right and wavering, unsteady lines on 
his vision track. It was the voice of the 
sobbing girl. 

"I'm sorry, Phyllis," he added quick- 
ly. "I don't mean to sound matter-of- 
fact. I know what Rex's death meant 
to you." 

"Fallow says you killed him." 

Movement of color and the blink- 
ing, low-pitched sound of Phyllis' brown 
eyes as she stared into his. The steady 
sobbing on the sound track. 

"Mr. Fallow," she said uncertainly, 
"was at the studio. He saw a man 
escape through the rear door. He ran 
after him and saw him drive away. He 
said the man was you. When he went 
back, Dad " the line broke. 

He reached out carefully and touched 
her arm. 

"I — didn't ..." 

"I know," she said. "I told him he 
was mistaken. He found the car, the 
one you drove away in. It was wrecked 
in the ditch near where he found you, 
Walter. I can't believe you did it, but 
who — who?" 

TV/TARSH was stunned. He turned to 
Jim Garfield, and Garfield's voice 
track read: 

"I know, Marsh, but it points your 
way. We'll do the best we can." 

"So I'm left free until I'm trapped," 
he said bitterly. "Is that why Fallow 
left you with me?" 

Phyllis' sobbing stopped. 

"Oh, Walter, no!" Blankness, then 
more words: "We — that is Jim — 


D WIRES 91 

thought you should stay with him un- 
til you can get around alone. The real 
murderer will turn up, I know he will." 

Marsh's lips tightened in a straight, 
bloodless line. 

"You have my apartment number. 
Jim," he said. "I'd walk there if I 
could. I'd appreciate it if you drove me 
there now." 

"But, Walter " 

"Unless,' Marsh asked sarcastically, 
"Fallow did ask you to keep an eye on 
me. In that case I'll have to stay with 
you. A blind man hasn't much choice." 

No more words. His sudden bitter- 
ness silenced them both. Marsh caught 
the increased light and sound as the 
car picked up speed and made several 
turns. He stared straight ahead, his 
mind in a turmoil. Rex Hunter had 
been the finest friend he had ever had. 
They thought he murdered Rex. One 
thing he was sure of. Hunter was dead 
when he went into the office. He had 
not killed him. 

The flashing lights stopped and the 
idling engine sent popping green across 
his path of vision. 

"Can I help you to the door?" 

It was Garfield's voice, low, expres- 
sionless. 

"I'll make it," Marsh said grimly. 
He knew that Phyllis was out of the 
car and holding the door for him. 

He climbed out, felt her fingers on 
his arm and drew away from her. 

"Tell Fallow I can't go very far this 
way," he said. "I wondered why your 
dislike for me could turn to friendship 
so easily, Miss Hunter. Don't worry. 
Fallow can pick me up any time." 

He turned and started across the 
walk. 

He knew the car was moving away 
because the flashing comet-light passed 
across his eyes. Although he knew 
where the steps were, he stumbled a 
little as his foot hit the first one and 


92 


AMAZING STORIES 


green sparks flew up in a shower. 

Ahead of him the red bricks of the 
building sent a steady roaring sound 
into his brain. 

"Crossed wires," he whispered to 
himself and started groping his way up- 
ward. "Sound and light. Murderer and 
murdered. You've got two problems 
now, Walt. Not much help for you, 
not until you get the new scoreboard 
figured out." 

pETE FALLOW climbed out of the 

car, found Marsh's bell and pressed 
his finger tightly against it. He waited, 
adjusting his coat collar and changing 
cigars. The buzzer sounded and Fallow 
stepped inside the dark apartment hall. 
The building was a six-story affair with 
elevator service. From the row of mail 
boxes, Fallow found that Marsh's 
apartment was on the third floor.. He 
entered the automatic elevator and 
pressed the button marked 3. 

Marsh met him at the door. Three 
days had passed since the morning he 
had awakened in the ditch. In those 
three days he had learned a great deal. 

"Mr. Fallow," Marsh said, holding 
the door open. "Come in." 

Fallow gulped. 

"My blue eyes give me away again, 
huh?" 

Marsh laughed and led him inside. 
He pointed to a chair near the window. 

"Sit down. No, I'm not exactly 
blind, Fallow. In fact with a little more 
practice, I think I'll see as well as the 
rest of you. Have to adjust myself. If 
I'm to be a fugitive from the law, I'll 
have to get around pretty fast." 

His last words were bitter. Fallow 
frowned thoughtfully. He found him- 
self liking Marsh. Perhaps part of it 
was pity. 

"Suppose I told you that so far as 
Rex Hunter is concerned, I have evi- 
dence that may clear you?" Fallow said. 


Marsh's eyebrows moved upward. 
"You're not setting another trap?" 
Fallow grinned. 

"Look, Marsh," he said. "Let's get 
this thing straight. I know what you're 
up against. Just the same, if you mur- 
dered Hunter, I'd get you if you were 
blind and had no legs or arms. I've 
been talking to Miss Hunter." 

Marsh started. 

"Has Phyllis been mixed -" 

"Let me finish," Fallow said shortly. 
"Miss Hunter is a peach. She and Gar- 
field have been on my trail ever since 
they dropped you here at the apart- 
ment. They realize you have to fight 
this thing out alone. However, Miss 
Hunter tells me that her father gave you 
instructions to copy that film, deliver 
the original to him and lock the copy 
in the morgue. Is that right?" 

Marsh nodded and Fallow continued. 

"Whoever killed Hunter was after 
the film, and the film alone. None of his 
personal valuables was touched. I must 
have been mistaken when I thought I 
saw you drive that car away." 

The room had grown warm. Marsh 
arose, walked to the window and pushed 
it up a foot or two. He stood very still, 
his back to Fallow. 

"That's the funny part of it," he said. 
"I was driving that car." 

T7 ALLOW sprang to his feet. 

1 "You admit " 

"Nothing." Marsh turned, a puzzled, 
almost pleading expression on his face. 
"Something hit my head. I went crazy. 
I came around and found myself un- 
able to think clearly. I heard some- 
one ringing the front bell and I thought 
I had to run away. I went out the back 
way, found the car there and got in. 
The engine was running. I drove out 
of the alley and kept on driving until 
all that crazy fear had gone out of me. 
I can't remember beyond that until I 


CROSSED WIRES 


93 


awakened and — and my senses 

Fallow nodded eagerly. 

"You think that car was left there 
for an escape? That you stumbled 
across it?" 

Marsh looked puzzled. 

"How else?" 

Fallow grunted. 

"Yeah, how else?" he said. "Well, 
I'll tell you. I traced the license and 
found out the buggy belongs to a Jap- 
anese importer. He closed shop months 
ago and took his family to one of the 
inland camps. The car was supposed 
to be locked up. We broke into his 
house last night. Found about eight 
feet of film in a waste basket that I 
think might interest you." 

"Go on." 

"This film is locked up at the office," 
Fallow said evenly. "But Jim Gar- 
field said you'd know all about it. It's 
a scene taken in Alaska. A couple of 
old settlers are standing in front of a 
store chewing the fat." 

"Good lordl" Marsh said hoarsely. 
"That's the scene Jim tacked onto the 
Japanese film. But how " 

"That's what I want to know," Fal- 
low said. "How did it get there? My 
guess is that Kari Mutso, the Jap I'm 
talking about, killed Hunter, then hid 
when you came in. Somehow that blow 
on the head crossed your wires. At 
the time I knocked on the front door, 
Kari Mutso sat tight in the closet, then 
escaped while I chased you into the 
alley. You grabbed his car, drove until 
you went out of your head and then got 
out and wandered around until you 
passed out. In all events, Mutso has 
the film." 

"But," Marsh protested, "surely he 
can be caught?" 

Fallow looked sour. 

"His nibs, Kari Mutso, was smuggled 
aboard a fishing schooner last night, 


and left for parts unknown. I'd hazard 
a guess that a submarine was waiting off 
shore to take him to a safer spot, may- 
be Tokyo." 

"About that film," Marsh suggested 
to Fallow before he left. "Do you want 
me to get it for you?" 

Fallow gave the subject proper 
thought. 

"It's safe where it is?" 

Marsh nodded. 

"Locked in a fire-proof and — I hope 
burglar-proof morgue. I have the only 
key and it's carefully hidden." 

"Good," Fallow said. "I'll ask the 
chief when he plans to take it to Wash- 
ington. We may as well leave it where 
it is until then. You can go down 
and get it when it's needed." 

Marsh said he would; they ex- 
changed a few more words and Fallow 
departed. 

A WEEK had passed since Walter 
Marsh first struggled from the 
ditch and walked into a strange new 
world of nerve-shattering sound and 
color. In those few days he had be- 
come familiar with the signals his brain 
received. His earlier experience with 
reading sound tracks had a lot to do 
with this quick re-education. 

Marsh forced himself to go out alone 
for hours. By walking the streets day 
after day, he picked up a certain knack 
of getting around that in some ways 
made him feel safer than the average 
pedestrian. 

Exactly one week after Rex Hunter's 
death, Marsh stepped out of his apart- 
ment, pocketed his key and went grimly 
to work on the murder case. Until that 
time he had forced himself to think of 
nothing but himself. To concentrate 
on learning his new self. 

Quite pleased, Marsh walked direct- 
ly to the elevator, guided by a steady, 
low tone-beam caused by the dark ele- 


94 


AMAZING STORIES 


vator door set into a light wall. He 
descended to the lobby and at once, 
two separate sets of blinking whistles 
warned him that two people were stand- 
ing before the elevator door staring at 
him. He nodded, stepped to one side 
and said: 
"Excuse me." 

The lobby was familiar now. He 
knew every sound that the various 
shades of paint made. The dark desk 
was a low rumble. The peach walls 
were high-pitched and steady. 

The rug sent up small patches of 
yellow sparks as his shoes rubbed 
against it. That was sound, transmit- 
ting itself into light. The desk-clerk's 
voice greeted him in wavery black lines. 

"Good morning, Mr. Marsh. Going 
out?" 

Marsh answered the greeting and 
went down the steps to the sidewalk. 
Here, he was also sure of himself. 

The sidewalk sent up a steady, green 
shower of sparks as his shoes clicked 
lightly against it. Cars rushing by, 
pedestrians — all sent out their own 
color-patterns and sounds. 

He reached the corner. Traffic was 
halted. He knew that, because the 
idling motors and the motionless cars 
made an entirely different group of 
sounds. The light was green. Red, 
amber, or green, he had learned the 
separate whistle of each color. 

Marsh walked swiftly, dodging each 
pedestrian, chuckling at the various 
little sounds the colors of their eyes 
made. He was getting a huge kick out 
of the fact that, at last, he had con- 
quered that first terrible fear within 
him. 

He reached Lockwood street (he had 
counted the blocks carefully) and 
turned south. The studio exterior was 
of bright stucco. It stood out among 
the darker buildings of the neighbor- 
hood, sending forth a high-pitched 


sound-beam that Marsh could follow 
easily. 

He approached the front door with 
mixed emotions. 

He must face the staff, Rex's daugh- 
ter, and Jim Garfield. Marsh wondered 
just how much blame still lay on his 
shoulders. Had Peter Fallow been tell- 
ing the truth when he said Marsh was 
cleared? 

"Walter!" Marsh stopped abruptly 
in the hall, Phyllis Hunter's voice weav- 
ing its signal in his eyes. "I didn't ex- 
pect you. I — I " 

She was standing before him, and 
he knew that she was blinking rapidly, 
because of the unsteady signal her eyes 
made. 

"I get around pretty well now," he 
said a little stiffly. "Thought I'd drop 
in and see how things were going." 

tJER hand was on his arm, shyly, as 
though she would draw it away if 
he gave any sign that it annoyed him. 
Marsh had longed to talk with her since 
that night he stumbled out of the car, 
blinded, sick with anger. He wanted 
to say that he was sorry and that he'd 
been a damn, unreasonable fool. Now 
he was so choked up that he couldn't 
say anything that made sense. 

The girl drew him into her own office. 
She always kept a huge bowl of gold- 
fish on the window sill. Now the dart- 
ing red fish, the sun-sparkling bowl 
made a definite set of sounds that were 
proof of his surroundings. 

She pushed him into a chair, pulled 
another one up close, and sat down. 
She started talking eagerly. 

"Walter, please don't be angry with 
me." 

"That's all right. We all make er- 
rors." 

"But about Dad," Phyllis went on 
hurriedly. "Did Pete Fallow tell you 
about the Japanese importer?" 


CROSSED WIRES 


95 


Marsh nodded. This was more like 
it. He had come for one purpose. The 
job of finding Rex's murderer had been 
going too slowly. He was ready now to 
do his part. 

"I understand this Jap was supposed 
to have been hiding when Fallow came 
in?" 

"Yes," Phyllis answered eagerly. 
"But, Walter, how did the man — Kari 
Mutso, that is — know about the film? 

Marsh smiled, but there was no hu- 
mor in the expression. 

"That's the question that's puzzled 
me for a week," he said. 

"Someone who works here must be 
in touch with Mutso. Otherwise, how 
did he know that I'd be taking the film 
to your father at the approximate time 
the murder happened?" 

"Walter." He saw the little sound 
line widen into a gasp. "It — wouldn't 
be Jim?" 

Marsh shook his head. 

"Jim Garfield got into trouble the 
last time he was in Japan. They tossed 
him out of their country on his ear, and 
damned near drowned him. Fortunate- 
ly he had sent his films home ahead of 
him. By the time Jim found a river 
boat to cling to, swam half a mile to a 
freighter and came home in rags, he 
didn't have much affection for the Japs. 
It isn't Jim. He hates their guts." 

A sigh of relief. 

"You thought Jim was one of the few 
people who knew about the film," 
Marsh said comfortingly. "I don't 
blame you for suspecting everyone." 

"But — who else knew?" 

"I don't know," Marsh said slowly. 
"You, your father, Jim Garfield and I. 
No, I'm afraid Mutso must have had 
another source of information." 

He saw the quick flash of changing 
color as Phyllis stood up. 

"They murdered Dad," she said in a 
steady voice. "But we've still got the 


film— at least a copy. They won't get 
that." 

Marsh's eyes narrowed. 
"No," he said. "They won't get that 
without killing me." 

"lV/TR. FALLOW," Marsh said into 
the phone. "I wonder if you're go- 
ing to be busy this evening?" 

"No," said the voice at the other end 
of the wire. "This is Marsh, isn't it? 
What's on your mind?" 

Walter Marsh smiled. 

"A trip to Kari Mutso's home," he 
said. "I'd hardly get that far alone. I'd 
like you to go along." 

Fallow's voice was deeply interested. 

"If you think you know anything I 
don't," he said. "I'll be damned glad 
to get your help." 

Marsh denied any special knowledge. 

"I just want to look around over 
there," he said. 

"Look?" 

Marsh chuckled. 

"Can you pick me up here at the 
apartment about seven this evening?" 

CHARPLY at seven o'clock, Pete Fal- 
low halted before the apartment 
building. Marsh was already out front. 
He waited until Fallow's voice flashed 
into his vision screen, and hurried to 
the curb. The trip across town and 
down the hilly streets to the water front 
took forty minutes. Fallow stopped 
at last, rounded the car to help Marsh 
out, and found him already standing on 
the sidewalk. 

"By golly," Fallow said with respect 
in his voice. "They can't hold you 
down, can they? You know how to get 
around." 

Marsh shook his head. 

"I'm not much good in the dark," he 
said. "Otherwise, I can get along if 
there's plenty of time, and someone to 
help me." 


96 


AMAZING STORIES 


Fallow took his arm and they went 
up a sandy path. It was a dark, dismal 
neighborhood. The sounds and colors 
were low and some of them strange. As 
they walked along, Marsh recognized 
the purple sparks that fell around his 
feet as the sounds of his pants legs 
against high weeds. In a distance the 
wavery line of rolling surf registered on 
his vision screen. 

Fallow let go of his hand and there 
came a wavery message of a key turn- 
ing, the flash of an opening door. Once 
inside, Fallow turned his flashlight 
around the room and the beam of the 
light varied in sound as it moved close 
to Marsh and then away again. 

"Don't quite know how this trip 
can do you any good, Marsh," Fallow 
said apologetically. "I've been over 
this ratty dump half a dozen times. 
Nothing but a big shack, two floors 
high." 

He had turned around and was look- 
ing at Marsh. 

"This Kari Mutso?" Marsh asked. 
"You say he returned and was evidently 
living here last week when he got the 
film and left in a hurry?" 

"Yeah, that's as near as we can 
figure out," Fallow said. "The place 
was in pretty good shape. Half a dozen 
people in the neighborhood said Mutso 
had been around for quite a while. We 
checked with a little Italian down by 
the wharfs. He said Mutso went out 
on a fishing boat the night Hunter was 
killed. He hasn't come back since." 

Marsh moved slowly around the 
room. He felt the top of a small desk 
that was in the corner of the room, then 
went through the drawers. 

"Ain't nothing around that will help 
you," Fallow said. "We found that film 
in the kitchen. Cut off and tossed in 
a grocery bag." 

Marsh took a handkerchief from his 
pocket and wiped his hands. They were 


rough and gritty with dust. 

"I guess I'm on the wrong track," he 
said. "I was feeling pretty good. It 
made me sure of myself and I decided 
to get Hunter's murderer right away. 
Guess I'm not so smart as I thought. 
Shall we go?" 

Fallow chuckled. 

"You leave the detective work to me, 
Mr. Marsh," he said. "I'm paid for it." 

Marsh started moving toward the 
door. Suddenly he stumbled and fell 
directly into Pete Fallow's arms. He 
swore. 

"What the dickens," Fallow pro- 
tested. "I thought you could see me. 
Guess you'd better take it easy for a 
while, before you run into a car or 
something, walking around blind this 
way." 

Marsh apologized. He didn't under- 
stand what had happened. Fallow had 
been facing him, and yet he hadn't 
caught any of the signals. 

Was it possible that the few senses 
he had left were failing? 

JIM GARFIELD was in the projec- 
tion room when Marsh entered. Jim 
left the scanning machine, came over 
and sat down beside Marsh. They 
were silent for some time. Finally Gar- 
field broke the silence. 

"It's been a week now, Walt, and 
they haven't got poor Rex's murderer." 

Marsh didn't answer. He was trying 
to find some small point, some clue 
that would point to anyone but Jim 
Garfield. Jim just wasn't a murderer. 
Garfield had no more reason for killing 
Rex than he, Marsh, did. Jim could 
have made a hundred copies of the film 
during the past few months, or he could 
have stolen the original and no one 
would have suspected. It had to be 
an outsider. 
Or did it? 

There was one possibility none of 


CROSSED WIRES 


97 


them had considered. Jim could have 
had another reason for killing Rex. A 
reason entirely aside from the obvious 
one. Jim knew Rex would be alone. 
He knew the chance would be perfect. 

"I'm damned if I know what to say," 
Marsh sighed. Then for a reason that 
wasn't even clear to him at the time, he 
added: "I'm going to get that film out 
of the morgue tonight. I want it locked 
in a bank vault or turned over to the 
F.B.I at once. I don't think any of 
us should take further chances with it." 

Garfield stood up quickly. 

"That still isn't finding Rex's mur- 
derer. Marsh, just what the hell were 
you doing that night? Fallow wasn't 
kidding when he said you drove away in 
the car." 

Marsh felt his temper start to rise. 
He stood up, facing Jim, cold irony in 
his voice. 

"The only thing I'm sure about that 
night, Jim," he said, "is that Pete Fal- 
low made a mistake when he said that 
car belonged to Kari Mutso. I've driv- 
en that car before, Jim. It belongs to 
you!" 

vyHY Jim Garfield didn't lose his 
temper, Marsh wasn't sure. It 
had been Jim's car. He had known 
that even in his crazed fright. He had 
kept it as an ace card from the first. 
Now his own foolish temper had given 
him away. 

"So what?" Garfield's voice recorded 
itself evenly. 

"Damned if I know," Marsh said. 
"But I'll find out. I came around after 
that crack on the head and the first 
thing I thought of was to run away. I 
ran out the side door and int« the alley. 
Your car was there and the motor was 
running. I climbed in and almost ran 
Fallow down getting away." 

"And you think Fallow was ignorant 
enough to trace the wrong license num- 


ber? To find the wrong owner?" 
Marsh frowned. 

"No — I don't," he said, and won- 
dered just what in hell he did think. 

Garfield's voice didn't register for 
some time. Then it was clipped and 
short. 

"Well, Sherlock, I've as much right 
asking questions as you have around 
here. You can go straight to hell." 

Sparks flew from the rug in the 
narrow aisle. Sudden explosions of 
light and the darkness again, darkness 
like night. Marsh was left alone in the 
darkened studio. He sat alone bewild- 
ered. Whether the lights were on or off 
made little difference. He couldn't see 
them anyhow. 

AT FIVE in the afternoon, George 
Wicker, Pete Fallow's companion, 
called Marsh at the studio. Phyllis 
came to the projection room for him. 

"He says it's urgent," she said. "Mr. 
Fallow is busy somewhere on work con- 
cerning that Kari Mutso." 

Marsh went into Rex Hunter's office 
to take the call. 

"Hello — Mr. Marsh?" 

Marsh said it was. 

The chief wanted Mr. Marsh to get 
that Japanese film ready and he, George 
Wicker, would pick it up late in the 
evening. He was going to be busy until 
after nine, and Fallow was somewhere 
down around the water front looking 
for the Jap. Seems that someone had 
seen Mutso around town again. Would 
Mr. Marsh get the film out of the 
morgue and have it ready at nine- 
thirty? 

Marsh said he would, and George 
Wicker thanked him and hung up. 

Marsh thought it over. There were 
a few points he hadn't cleaned up yet 
on the murder of Rex Hunter. Only a 
few. 

He went into Phyllis' office. He could 


AMAZING STORIES 


tell by the blinking tone of her eyes, 
the flash of her teeth, that she was 
staring at him as he came in. She was 
smiling. 

He went straight to her desk and 
leaned over it. 

"That's a pretty jade pin you're 
wearing," he said with a smile. 

Phyllis' eyes showed how the remark 
had startled her, and Marsh laughed 
aloud. 

"The pin," he said, "makes a nice 
steady whistle. The sound that green 
always produces." 

She relaxed then, laughing at herself. 

"For an instant I almost thought you 
could see it," she said. "What did Mr. 
Wicker want?" 

Marsh didn't answer directly. 

"Could you stay for a while this 
evening?" he asked. "I'm turning that 
film over to the F. B. I. I'd like you to 
witness the act." 

"Surely." Her voice, at first cool, was 
suddenly filled with a torrent of emo- 
tion. "Walter, what are we going to do? 
We can't go on without knowing about 
Dad. Without doing something for you. 
I— I ..." 

"You're sorry we fought so often — 
before?" Marsh asked softly. 

"I'm sorry I've been a little fool 
most of my life," she whispered. "Dad 
used to say I was cruel just for the love 
of seeing people run away from me. He 
was right. But now — Walter — I'm fed 
up with myself." 

Marsh leaned far over the desk. 

"I'm not fed up," he said. "I'm just 
getting started." 

He planted a firm kiss on her lips, 
turned and walked swiftly out of the 
office. He didn't have to get any sound 
signals to know that his own face was a 
fiery red. 

'pHE HALL was dark. Marsh made 
sure that not even the single night- 


light was burning when he came into 
the building at eight-thirty. He had 
gone out for an hour and returned in 
time to open the morgue before George 
Wicker appeared. 

He knew that Phyllis was in her of- 
fice, because the office light signaled 
him clearly. He thought that Jim Gar- 
field was in. Jim's light was on as he 
passed. Marsh walked as quietly as 
possible on the deep hall-carpet. He 
entered the projection room, moved 
carefully down the aisle and sat in the 
darkness. 

It was important that every nerve 
be alert. 

He sat motionless for half an hour. 
Once, he felt sure that someone had 
opened the door behind him. A tiny 
flash of light, then darkness again. 

At last he arose. He was startled to 
find that perspiration was standing out 
on his forehead. That his fingers were 
moist. That wouldn't do. His nerves 
had to be calm. 

The place where he had hidden the 
morgue key was as simple as it was 
safe. Marsh felt his way to the rear of 
the room. He counted down eight rows 
and over toward the scanning machine 
ten chairs. He slipped his fingers under 
the chair, felt up under the torn uphol- 
stery and drew out the key. 

All was silent now. There were only 
the sparks that he himself made in 
walking across the floor and brushing 
against objects. 

The morgue had two doors, both 
opened by the same key. He found the 
first one, opened it quickly and stepped 
into a cool, short hall. It was carpetless 
and his shoes clicked loudly, making 
wide, green sparks as they moved. The 
second floor. He took a deep breath 
and went in. 

The morgue was a long, narrow room. 
The cement walls were reinforced by 
three inches of steel. Air-conditioning 


CROSSED WIRES 


99 


made the place cool and slightly moist. 

Echoes were loud and his eyes caught 
shattering flashes of bright colors as 
he moved about among the film contain- 
ers. There were two racks against the 
walls. On these racks, large film cans 
had been stacked. 

He knew exactly where to go to the 
Jap film, but he had no intention of 
giving himself away that easily. 

Marsh went to the far end of the 
morgue. He stood still in the darkness, 
as though deep in thought. Then he 
moved close to one wall and started 
moving the cans about. The noise pro- 
duced violent light-signals in his eyes. 
There was no actual light in the morgue. 
Therefore, no sound to register in his 
ears. 

Suddenly a small flash of green 
sparks caught his eye. 

PVERY nerve in his body snapped to 
attention. Casually, slowly, he 
turned away from the rack and went 
to the opposite wall. 

Those green sparks were caused by 
a shoe hitting the cement in the outer 
hall! 

Marsh waited. 

"The fool," he thought. "I'm not 
blind. Why doesn't he, or she, realize 
that?" 

Still, he was puzzled by something. 

He received no other signal than the 
green sparks. They were spaced cau- 
tiously, far apart, indicating that the 
person was coming toward him slowly. 

Marsh waited for the series of light 
dashes that the human eye produced. 

Green flash — green flash — then fast- 
er, running. 

Marsh dodged to one side and a vio- 
lent orange flame spread out close to his 
elbow. Some one had struck at him. 
He had dodged just in time, and the 
object had hit one of the film cans, pro- 
ducing the orange light. 


In that instant Marsh whipped 
around, reached swiftly into his pocket 
and brought out a stocking. In the foot 
of the sock was a heavy plaster book- 
end. 

The green flashes withdrew swiftly. 

Now the eye signals were visible. 

Long, almost uninterrupted whistles 
came from the eyes. Someone there in 
the dark, ready to strike again, strain- 
ing his eyes to see. 

Marsh knew then it would be easy. 
He had every advantage over a normal 
person. The other could see nothing in 
the dark. 

Marsh could see every sound. 

Green flashed, close. The eye signal 
was stronger. Then the high pitched 
tone of teeth — white teeth, visible, 
probably, between snarling lips. 

Marsh moved ever so slightly and a 
wide vibrating black line appeared in 
his vision screen. 

He knew that vibration. A gunshot! 

He fell forward, rolling over quickly 
as he did so, then came to his feet sil- 
ently. 

The room was quiet. The green 
flashes came, not two feet from him. 
The signal of the eyes turned straight 
at him. The beam of sound was close — 
too close. Marsh brought the sock with 
the plaster book-end down with all his 
weight. A violent shower of red sparks. 

"Uh-h-h-h " 

The broken moan gave Marsh a clear 
impression of his attacker. His mind 
was suddenly drunk with relief that the 
person stretched on the dark floor was 
the one he expected it to be. 

Pete Fallow wouldn't have to spend 
any more time searching for Kari 
Mutso. 

Fallow was out cold on the floor of 
the dark morgue! 

^HEY were seated in Rex Hunter's 
office. Phyllis Hunter was on the 


100 


AMAZING STORIES 


arm of Marsh's chair. Jim was behind 
Rex's desk, legs across the edge of it, 
completely relaxed for the first time 
since Hunter's death. 

"I don't know whether Fallow was 
ever really connected with the F. B. I. 
He had cleverly forged credentials, but 
I'm quite sure he'd never fool anyone 
in authority for any length of time. Re- 
member that Rex said he'd call the F. 
B. I. My guess is that he never had 
time to; that Fallow shot him before 
he put the call through. Fallow heard 
through private sources that we had the 
film." 

"But how — where?" Phyllis protest- 
ed. "Neither Jim nor I " 

"No," Marsh admitted. "Fallow was 
connected in some way with Japanese 
spies." 

"Kari Mutso?" Garfield asked. 
Marsh chuckled. 

"Pete Fallow was Kari Mutso," he 
said. 

Garfield's feet slipped from the desk 
and hit the floor with a bang. 
"Impossible!" 

"It's true, Marsh insisted. "I don't 
know just when I started to suspect Fal- 
low. He seemed all right. But look at 
it this way. I refused to believe either 
you or Phyllis was responsible for 
Rex's death. 

"That left only Fallow. Fallow must 
have known about the film. We placed 
all our trust in him. The story wasn't in 
the papers. Fallow made sure it didn't 
get out to the public. 

"He came here late in the afternoon. 
He got into Rex's office, killed him to 
prevent Rex from getting in touch with 
the real F. B. I." 

"But how can you be sure?" Phyllis 
asked. 

"Because I called the local F. B. I. 
office this afternoon. They said they 
had no one working for them by the 
name of Fallow. He's a private detec- 


tive, and not a very good one." 
"George Wicker?" 

"Works for Fallow, and isn't as 
bright as Fallow. Wicker was com- 
pletely fooled. He didn't know why 
they came here, or that Fallow had al- 
ready made one visit that afternoon to 
the studio. 

"Fallow thought he might pin the 
murder on the person who ran out and 
escaped in the car. Of course I was so 
groggy that I left the film can laying 
there. He must have slipped it into a 
closet and came back for it late in the 
evening." 

"But Kari Mutso?" Garfield pro- 
tested. "Fallow chased around after 
him for a week." 

"He pretended to," Marsh admitted. 
"What Fallow actually did was this: 
He saw that everyone was against him 
when he tried to pin the murder on me. 
He had already turned the film over to 
certain spies. We'll never know them 
or where the film went. 

"After he saw the condition I was in, 
and learned that there was a copy of the 
film, he had to treat me right and wait 
for a chance to get at the copy. He 
made up the story of Kari Mutso and 
said he traced your car to the Jap." 

Garfield swore. 

"I'm to blame for a lot of the trou- 
ble," he admitted. "I know I had left 
the car out back. The motor was run- 
ning while I came into the dark-room; 
I forgot a couple of negatives I'd made 
that afternoon. I must have been in the 
dark-room when you rushed out and 
drove away." 

"That explains it," Marsh agreed. 
"Fallow told the story about Kari Mut- 
so to satisfy us. If we'd grown curious 
and reported to the police or the F. B. 
I., he'd have been in trouble. As it was 
he had to pay heavily to get the doctor 
who examined Rex to sign a certificate 
of natural death." 


CROSSED WIRES 


101 


Phyllis gasped in astonishment. 

"I checked up on that to," Marsh 
admitted. "The good doctor is in jail 
at this moment. Fallow took me to 
Mutso's place. He said Mutso had been 
living there and yet the place was cov- 
ered with dust. Ruined a handkerchief 
just wiping my hands." 

"But you went into the morgue when 
you knew he would follow?" 

It was Phyllis, her voice filled with 
admiration. 

"I had to do that," Marsh said grave- 
ly. "Remember that I thought it was 
Fallow. Wicker called and said he 
would pick up the film. It was then 
that I had time to check with the F. B. 
I. and the doctor. I went home' and 
prepared a little weapon." 

XJE drew the sock filled with broken 
plaster from his pocket and tossed 
it on the desk. 

"When I entered the morgue, I 
couldn't be positive it was Fallow. I 
had to prove he was the one who stole 
the film. I knew Fallow had the film 
because I had convinced myself that 
Kari Musto didn't exist, and yet Fallow 
brought that Alaskan scene to us, claim- 
ing he found it in Mutso's house. 

"When those footsteps came toward 
me, I was waiting for certain signals. 
I even had a horrible fear for a minute 
that I might get more than I asked for." 

Phyllis clasped her hand over the 
jade pin she was wearing. 

"Yes," Marsh said calmly. "It could 
have been you, or Jim. I had to take 
that chance. Then something happened 
that made me sure it was Fallow. After 
that I waited my chance and got him. 
The poor sap didn't have a chance in 
the dark." 

"But— what? What made you sure 
it was he?" 

"When Fallow and I were in the 
house down near the waterfront, I ran 


into him in the dark. He was quite sur- 
prised. He made a remark about think- 
ing I could see him. I could have seen 
him if he hadn't closed his eyes. I 
thought about it afterward, and decided 
that Fallow, standing there in the dark, 
had deliberately closed his eyes to see 
if I had any other way of recognizing 
him. He tried the same trick when he 
first entered the morgue. However, he 
forgot that I could follow every step, by 
the sparks of sound from his shoes." 
Phyllis sighed. 

"I still think you took too many 
chances," she said. 

Marsh had saved his biggest triumph 
for this moment. He turned in his chair 
and smiled at the girl. 

"Phyllis," he said, "I think the blue 
dress, the new hair-do and that tearful 
expression in your eyes are the most 
wonderful things I've ever seen." 

He put both arms around her, drew 
her down to him and kissed her lips. 

"No blind man in the world could 
find a pair of lips that fasti" Jim Gar- 
field shouted. 

Phyllis tried to struggle, to break 
away so that she might question him. 
Marsh held her tightly, staring straight 
into her eyes. 

Finally she managed to break loose 
and there was complete happiness in 
her voice. 

"Walter Marsh, the devil was shining 
in those eyes just then. You — you can 
see — really 1" 

Marsh chuckled. 

"It must have been the excitement in 
there," he said. "Alone with Fallow, 
fighting for my life, I realized that the 
lights and the sounds in my head were 
ended. I struggled around after I 
knocked Fallow down, but I was as 
blind as he was. Bumped my head half 
a dozen times trying to get out." 

"And when you got to daylight?" 
Garfield asked. 


102 


AMAZING STORIES 


"Why — I could see again," Marsh 
said. "And from now on, I'm going to 
keep both eyes on a certain girl who 
used to cause her father no end of 
worry." 

"Poor Dad," Phyllis said, and there 
were tears in her eyes. "I'll bet he'd be 
happy to know how things turned out." 

Marsh nodded silently and the girl 


stared out the window, a far-away look 
in her eyes. 

"Dad once said that I came from the 
same mold that mother did. I wonder 
if, where they are now, he still thinks 
that." 

Marsh held her close. 

"If he doesn't," he said slowly, "Im 
ashamed of him." 


VIGNETTES OF FAMOUS SCIENTISTS 


iBy ALEXANDER BLADEI 


Blake 


He might have been the greatest of all astronomers, 
but unfortunately astrology and alchemy led him astray 


TYCHO BRAKE was the eldest son of a 
Swedish nobleman and was born on the 
family estate (Knudstrup), in the year 1546, 
near the town of Helsingborg, which stands on the 
narrow strait between Sweden and Denmark. 
Twenty-three years previously the former had be- 
come independent of Danish sovereignty, and un- 
der the wise and capable reign of Gustavus Vasa, 
Tycho passed his youthful years. 

When the boy had reached the age of ten his 
father died, and he passed under the care cf his 
uncle, Otto Brahe. By that time he had not only 
learned to read and write his native language well, 
but had begun the study of Latin, and by the age 
of thirteen was so well grounded in that language 
and the fundamentals of mathematics, that it was 
considered time to send him to the University of 
Copenhagen, to specialize in those studies which 
led up to the profession of the law, for which his 
uncle destined him. In the following year, 1560, 
an eclipse of the sun had been predicted for 
August 21st, and the educated world of the day 
was naturally excited over the coming event. 
When it began precisely at the time set, Tycho was 
so moved that he resolved to make himself the 
master of a science that could foretell accurately 
an event so marvelous. 

In 1562 he was transferred to the University of 
Leipsic to finish in law. But he exhibited no in- 
clination for the profession, and when his uncle 
died in 1564, leaving him, at the age of 19, in 
possession of a large income, be took his future 
into his own hands, and devoted his energies to 
astronomy, much to the disgust of all his relatives 
except a maternal uncle, Steno Bille, who unhesi- 
tatingly cEicour.-iged him to follow his natural bent. 


Leaving his native land he went to Wittemberg 
in Saxony, early in the spring of 1566, but moved 
to Rostock in Mecklenburg {he following year. 
Here he became involved in a quarrel with a 
Swedish nobleman, with whom he fought a duel 
with swords in total darkness, with the result that 
his opponent sliced off the entire front of his nose, 
which naturally ended the contest. The damage 
was repaired by cementing on his face an artificial 
nose, constructed mainly of gold and stiver which, 
for the balance of his life, was worn without 
serious discomfort or disfigurement. 

Late in 1568 he journeyed to Augsburg in Ba- 
varia, and there made the acquaintance of the 
brothers, John and Paul Hainzel, both astro- 
nomical enthusiasts, and also men of some means. 
To them he explained his desire to set up a quad- 
rant of some twenty feet radius for observational 
purposes, the drawing for which so impressed 
them that they not only offered to bear the expense 
of constructing it, but to provide a suitable site 
for its installation in one of the suburbs of the city 
where Paul had a country home. To this was later 
added a sextant of 5-foot radius, and with these 
two primitive instruments many successful obser- 
vations were made. Towards the end of 1571, by 
which time his fame had spread throughout Eu- 
rope, he made a visit to his home town, and met 
with a warm reception from both friends and 
relatives, and particularly from his Uncle Steno, 
whose encouragement for his early ambitions was 
now fully justified. 

This relative new offered him quarters on his 
own extensive estates for an observatory, and 
when he learned that his gifted nephew was also 
interested in alchemy— which, at the time, was 


VIGNETTES OF FAMOUS SCIENTISTS 


103 


considered quite as reputable a field of inquiry 
as astronomy — agreed to provide him also with a 
fully equipped laboratory. This munificent offer 
was eagerly accepted by the young man, who was 
then in his 25th year, but was not immediately 
acted on. At the time Tycho was, of course, 
aware of the theories of the Universe that had 
been propounded by Copernicus a quarter of a 
century previously, but there are reasons for be- 
lieving that he had never read the "Treatise" that 
set them forth, and it is certain that he rejected 
the general conclusions of the work, on the ground 
that they were contrary to the teachings of the 
Scriptures, and of the Church, of which he claimed 
to be a devout member. 

In the fall of the year 1572 a "nova" suddenly 
appeared in the constellation of Cassiopeia. It 
was first seen by Brahe on November 11th, but 
had been detected by others as early as in August. 
It was art unusually brilliant one, remaining visible 
for over a year, and disappearing only in March, 
1574. At its maximum it was the equal of Sirius 
in brightness. 

Tycho was wonderfully impressed with the 
phenomenon, and made observations every clear 
night during its continuance, which later were 
published. These added so greatly to his reputation 
that the King, becoming interested, asked him to 
deliver a course of lectures on the subject. Here 
it should be mentioned that about a year previ- 
ously Tycho had married a girl of the peasant 
class, to the deep offense of his relatives. But the 
success of his lectures, and the favor with which 
they were received at Court, much more than 
overbalanced the displeasure of his relatives in the 
public mind. Tycho, however, was so angered at 
the slights his wife had received at their hands 
that he determined to abandon Sweden as a resi- 
dence, and early in 1575 left for Germany to find 
a more congenial environment. 

Going first to Hesse Cassel he spent a week or 
more in delightful association with the Landgrave 
of that principality, w : ho was one of the noted 
astronomical enthusiasts of the day. 

From there he traveled into Switzerland, and 
after deciding upon Basle as a desirable location, 
and making a short visit to Venice, he began his 
return journey to Sweden to fetch his family to 
the new home. While preparing for the move he 
received an offer from the King of Denmark 
and Norway of a grant for life of the island of 
Suen, situated in the narrow strait between Den- 
mark and Sweden, on which would be erected at 
royal expense all the buildings for such an ob- 
servatory and laboratory as Brahe might plan, 
and equipped with all the instruments and ap- 
pliances necessary for his work. The offer also 
included a liberal subvention to cover operating 
and maintenance costs, a house for his family and 
a salary for his support. Naturally, such a flat- 
tering proposal was at once accepted, and before 
the end of the year construction upon a most 
elaborate scale began. The ultimate total cost of 
the establishment was close to one million dollars, 


of which Brahe contributed nearly one half, al- 
most impoverishing himself in the operation. He 
gave it the name of Uranienborg. 

Here Tycho passed the next twenty years of his 
life, during which he not only made a large num- 
ber of valuable and important stellar and plan- 
etary observations that added greatly to the cur- 
rent stock of astronomical knowledge, but also 
spent much time in the laboratory in resultless 
experiments in alchemy. It was in fact his devo- 
tion to the latter that caused his downfall. 

In 1S88 the King died, after a notable reign 
of 29 years. His son, Christian IV, who suc- 
ceeded, was but 11 years old at the time, and 
naturally was easily influenced and controlled by 
those around him. In 1591 this boy sovereign 
made his first visit to Uranienborg, accompanied 
by a large party of courtiers, some of whom 
disapproved strongly of the favors that had been 
bestowed on Brahe, and most of whom were more 
interested in pushing their own fortunes than in 
advancing the cause of science. Furthermore, an 
opinion prevailed that no discoveries of any im- 
portance or value to the State had resulted so far 
from the extensive and costly laboratory experi- 
ments that Tycho had been conducting. 

It was not long before these unfriendly indi- 
viduals began to make trouble for him, and in 
1597 his situation became so unpleasant that he 
moved his family from the island to Copenhagen, 
taking with him his smaller instruments, and all 
his books and notes. A little later he appears to 
have chartered a vessel, loaded into it as much 
of his larger instruments and chemical apparatus 
as could be easily moved, and with his family 
sailed for Rostock on the Mecklenburg coast. 
From there, having been cordially invited, he took 
his wife and children to the estate of his old 
friend Count Henry Rantzau, at the castle of 
Wandesburg, near the city of Hamburg, where he 
was made very welcome and urged to remain as 
long as he might desire. 

Rantzau suggested an appeal to Emperor Ru- 
dolph of Bohemia, who was a notable patron 
of the mystical arts, and to make this as strong 
as possible Tycho went to work at once to com- 
pile a memoir of the results of his life's labors to 
date. With that in manuscript he started for 
Prague, and received a most royal welcome from 
the sovereign. Rudolph at once gave him a pen- 
sion, a country estate, and finally offered the castle 
of Benach, in the suburbs of the city, as a site for 
his instruments and apparatus. 

In August, 1599, he took possession, dispatched 
an assistant to bring his large instruments from the 
island of Huen, and his family from Wandesburg. 
Later, finding that the surroundings of Benach 
were not as suitable for his work as he at first 
thought, he begged the Emperor to allow him 
residence in Prague. He was at once permitted to 
establish himself temporarily in the royal edifice, 
and to set up his instruments in its gardens or 
(Continued on page 117) 


Battle Before Dawn 


BY ROBERT MOORE WILLIAMS 

Man and Centaur fought 
to free a girl— and the fate of 
all mankind hung in the balance 


I 


WILL go talk to Gomar," Lion 
thought desperately. "Gomar will 
know what to do." 
With one last look at the thing resting 
in the valley, he turned toward the 
mountain, toward the cave where Go- 
mar lived. Gomar had been friendly 
with him in the past. Gomar would help 
him now — he hoped. His need was so 
desperate that only Gomar's great wis- 
dom could help him. 

"Ho, Gomar! " he called at the mouth 
of the cave. "Ho, Gomar! Come out. 
It is I, Lion, come to talk to you." 

He heard a grunt in the cave, then 
hoofs clicked softly on the sandy floor, 
and Gomar, blinking owlishly at the 
light, stood in the entrance. 

Gomar was the last of the horse 
people. He had the body of a small 
horse, the trunk, the arms, and the 
head of a human. 

"What is it, Lion of the almost-ape 
people, what is it that you want?" He 
sounded cross. 
"Tansy," Lion said. 
"Eh?" 

"Tansy is gone." 

Thoughtfully Gomar studied the man 
who stood before him. For Lion was 
a man, although neither Lion nor any 
of his tribe had made that discovery as 
yet. Unlike the shambling apes, Lion 
stood as straight as a tree, with broad 


shoulders, and long strong arms, and — 
what was far more important — a high 
forehead. Lion could think. It was for 
this reason that, young as he was, he 
was the leader of the almost-ape peo- 
ple, the strong, straight-standing leader 
of a new race. In his hands he held 
a flint-headed club. He had no other 
weapons. 

"And who," Gomar asked, "is 
Tansy?" 

Lion had forgotten that Gomar did 
not know who Tansy was. Lion as- 
sumed that all of the people of the 
forests and all of those who lived on the 
mountains knew Tansy, Tansy of the 
clean, lithe limbs, Tansy of the gray 
eyes, skilled, clever Tansy, who sang 
and laughed and who made something 
inside Lion sing and laugh with her. 

"Tansy—" he faltered. Then he re- 
membered a way that might describe 
Tansy so that Gomar would know for 
certain who she was. "Tansy — when 
the leaves die once more and then turn 
green again, Tansy will be my wife," 
Lion said. 

"Ah," Gomar said. "Now I remem- 
ber. Tansy is that pleasing girl you 
brought to see me one time. Next 
spring you will marry her. Yes. Yes. 
That is good. Tansy will give you fine 
sons and daughters and your race will 
grow strong. Ah " Gomar blinked. 



106 


AMAZING STORIES 


"Has something happened to her?" 

"Yes," Lion said. "The Creatures of 
the Bird captured her this morning." 

JJE WATCHED Gomar's face as he 
told what had happened. He saw 
the sadness come over Gomar's face, 
and the sorrow, and the sympathy. He 
knew, then, that Gomar would help him, 
if he could. But Gomar said nothing. 

"Didn't you understand me?" Lion 
questioned. "They have been setting 
traps in the forests, clever traps that 
you cannot see before you are in them. 
This morning they took Tansy in one of 
their traps." 

Gomar spoke now. "I am sorry," he 
said. "For Tansy and for you." 

This was not what Lion wanted to 
hear. "I want you to help me rescue 
her!" The words tumbled over each 
other in his anxiety to get them spoken. 
"I came to you because you are the 
only one who is wise enough to over- 
come the Creatures of the Bird. You 
will help me, won't you? You will give 
me a magic that will release Tansy? I 
must have her back. I must! I can't 
live without her. And those Creatures 
of the Bird they — they — " He couldn't 
say the words now, he couldn't speak 
of what would be done to Tansy by 
those who had captured her. 

"I know what they will do," Gomar 
sighed. "And I have said I am sorry." 
He looked down into the valley that was 
the roosting place of the Bird and for 
a moment anger gleamed on his dark, 
bearded face. Then the anger faded 
into resignation. 

Lion waited for Gomar to speak 
again. Gomar was silent. "But you 
will help me?" Lion questioned. 

Gomar shook his head. . 

"You mean you won't help me?" 

"I mean I can't help you," Gomar 
gently corrected. 

"But vou — you — " Lion did not 


understand. To him, Gomar was the 
wisest of all living creatures. Gomar 
had weapons that slew from afar, he 
knew how to make the little sun that 
drives away the darkness,* and many 
other things. 

"I can't help you," Gomar repeated. 
"What you ask is beyond my power." 

"How can that be?" Lion questioned. 
"All the people of the forest know that 
the Creatures of the Bird remain here 
only because you permit them to; that, 
if you chose, you could lift your voice, 
and the Bird would be no more, you 
could stretch out your hand, and the 
Bird would be destroyed." 

Gomar looked curiously at Lion then 
and the look said that now he did not 
understand what the other was saying. 
"I am afraid the almost-ape people 
have too high an opinion of my abili- 
ties," he said. "I am afraid you over- 
estimate my strength, which is only 
natural because your race is newly come 
to this land. If you had been here three 
years ago, you would be better able to 
estimate the weakness of the horse peo- 
ple and the strength of the Creatures of 
the Bfrd." 

"It is true that we have only recently 
come into this land." Lion said doubt- 
fully. "We found you here and we 
found the Bird here. We are newcom- 
ers, but that does not mean we have 
not realized how great you are, and how 
powerful. You will help me, will you 
not, in rescuing Tansy?" 

^OMAR did not answer. He looked 
at Lion and from Lion down into 
the valley where the Bird rested and 
back again at the man. "You do not 
understand," he said slowly. "Listen 
to what I have to tell you about them." 
He swept his arm in a gesture that in- 


* The little sun that drives away the darkness : 
Fire. — Ed. 


BATTLE BEFORE DAWN 


107 


eluded the great valley below. 

"Three years ago," Gomar said, "the 
Bird camel" There was bitterness in 
his voice, and sorrow, and a great sad- 
ness, and anger too deep for words. 

"It flew through the sky, making a 
great roaring sound. It landed in the 
valley and the Creatures emerged from 
it. We of the horse people, of which I 
am the last, we were awed. We thought 
the Creatures of the Bird were gods. 
'See, they fly through the sky!' my 
people said. 'Only gods can fly through 
the sky. Let us go down and worship 
them and the great shining bird that 
carries them.' 

"We felt it was an honor for gods 
to pay us a visit," Gomar continued, 
and Lion listened. "We were very 
pleased. We went down to the great 
bird, to worship, all except old Judo, 
our medicine man. Old Judo would not 
go. 'There is evil in the wind,' he said. 
'I smell it. Do not go near those crea- 
tures of the shining bird. They are bad.' 

"My people laughed at him. 'You are 
jealous,' they said. 'You are a false 
prophet, old Judo. You are supposed 
to know what the gods are doing, and 
here gods come to visit us and you did 
not know they were coming.' " 

Gomar shrugged massive shoulders 
in resignation. "I believed old Judo. I 
knew him. He might be mistaken but 
his heart was with the horse people and 
he would not utter false prophecies. But 
my people did not believe him. Al- 
though I was king, what could I do? 
My people wanted to go into the valley 
and worship the shining bird. A wise 
king cannot forbid his people to do 
what they are determined to do. I 
could not order them not to go. They 
would have gone secretly. I could only 
go along with them, and watch and 
wait to see what would happen!" 

"What did happen?" Lion asked in 
an awed voice. 


For an instant, anger blackened Go- 
mar's face. Then, as memory recre- 
ated the scene of what had happened, 
the answer was replaced by fear and 
horror and by sick shame. 

"They slaughtered us," he said. "As 
we knelt to worship, they slaughtered 
us. They pointed strangely shaped 
pieces of metal at us. There was magic 
in these things, evil magic. Twinkling 
streaks of fire leaped from them. Like 
lightning, the fire darted among my 
people. The air was filled with harsh, 
crackling noises. 

"We were stricken with terror. We 
had come in awe, we had come in peace. 
When the flashes of fire ran among us, 
killing many, we did not know what to 
do. Some of us ran in one direction, 
some in others. We did not know what 
was happening. 

"But we were fighters. We had 
come in peace but if there was to be 
war, well, let there be war, and who 
would get hurt we could not say. We 
had bows and arrows, spears and 
swords. We fought. The Creatures 
were small, thin-skinned, insignificant 
things, with great staring eyes. There 
was not one among the horse people 
who could not have whipped ten of 
them in a fair fight. We fought them. 
Our arrows were a hail smashing among 
them. We saw them go down before 
our arrows, many of them. We quickly 
formed ranks and when I saw them 
show signs of faltering, I ordered the 
charge " 

^"MDMAR reached back into the shel- 
ter of the cave, drew a scabbard 
from a wall niche, took a six-foot sword 
from the scabbard. As he swung the 
shining blade in his hands, he was again 
the leader of the horse people, fighting 
again that battle with the Creatures of 
the Bird. 
"Ai, but we were fighters! The 


103 


AMAZINS STORIES 


sounds of our hoofs was an earth-shak- 
ing thunder as we charged. We were 
after these things that had come among 
us. We saw now that they were not 
gods. Gods are merciful and just. Gods 
cannot die. These creatures did die 
beneath our arrows. We charged them. 

"They ran before us. They would 
not stand our charge. They ran from 
us, sought shelter in the body of the 
Bird. We charged the Bird! 

"We would cut it to pieces with our 
swords. We would run it through with 
our spears. We would riddle it with our 
.arrows. I led that charge and my sword 
was the first to pierce the body of the 
Bird. 

"Pierce it, did I say? Nay, it did 
not pierce. It bounced off. The Bird was 
made of metal too, a harder metal than 
my good sword. It turned the blade. 
The arrows did not penetrate. The 
sharp spears made no impression on 
the tough hide of the Bird. 

"And, through cunningly-contrived 
slits, the Creatures began to shoot at us 
from within the Bird. Oh, they slaugh- 
tered us. We could not get at them, but 
they, from the protection of the Bird, 
could slay us at will. I felt the air burn- 
ing around me as their fire weapons 
hissed among us. I ordered the retreat. 

"My people did not want to obey 
me. They were hot with the lust of 

battle. And the horse people had 

never retreated from any enemy. 

"We had to retreat now. I forced 
my warriors back, forced them to run. 
It was a miracle I was not killed. We 
took to the hills, running as fast as we 
could. 

"A great roaring sound came from 
the Bird. Looking back, I saw it rise 
into the air. It was following us, com- 
ing after us." 

"It caught up with us as we retreated, 
hovered in the air over us. The fire 
death danced down. We scattered, so 


that no more than one would be struck 
down at one time, but in spite of that, 
many of us were killed. Only when we 
had all succeeded in hiding did the Bird 
cease its roaring above us. Then it 
went back to the valley where it is 
now." 

Gomar's voice went into silence. His 
shoulders sagged. "That night I led 
those of us who remained alive back to 
the Bird. This thing was evil. It must 
be destroyed. My hope was that we 
could attack it in the night, a sudden 
vicious charge that would enable some 
of us to enter its body before the en- 
trances could be closed. Once we were 
inside, the Creatures would find we 
were no mean foe. 

"The blaze of bonfires attracted our 
attention as we drew near. The Crea- 
tures were out in the open. They had 
built great fires. We slipped close, 
planning to charge through the fires and 
into the Bird before they knew we were 
near. Then we saw what they were 
doing around the fires " 

Anger and horror were in Gomar's 
voice. 

"What were they doing?" Lion ques- 
tioned tensely. The answer to this ques- 
tion was of the utmost importance to 
him. 

"They were eating our dead com- 
rades!" Gomar snarled. "They were 
feasting on the flesh of the horse peo- 
ple." 

J^ION'S face was an emotionless 
mask as he heard the words. 

"Did you charge them that night, as 
you had planned?" he questioned. 

"Yes," Gomar answered. "We were 
so angry at what we saw that we 
charged them blindly. By some magical 
means, they seemed to know of our com- 
ing; for again they retreated to the pro- 
tection of the Bird. The result was the 
same as before, except that when we re- 


BATTLE BEFORE DAWN 


109 


treated this time, there were very few 
of us left, very, very few. It was the 
last charge we ever made against the 
Creatures of the Bird. They were too 
strong for us. Their fire weapons de- 
stroyed us before we could come to 
grips with them, and most of all, they 
had tie Bird. Against the Bird we could 
not fight at all." 

Gomar's voice went into silence but 
his memory retraced what had hap- 
pened after the Bird came, no one knew 
from where. The horse people had tried 
to stay away from the Creatures. But 
they had come hunting the horse peo- 
ple, for food. They were good hunters 
and they were always hungry. Of all the 
horse people Gomar alone remained. 

Of late, the Creatures had ceased 
hunting the horse people. They had 
sought other sources of food, finding it 
among the new race that had recently 
come into this land, the almost-ape peo- 
ple. Gomar knew well the great apes. 
This new race he called the almost-ape 
people, because they were like the apes 
in many ways but different in other 
ways. How they were different Gomar 
did not clearly understand, but he 
sensed that they were, and he sensed 
the importance of that difference. Now 
that his own kind was gone forever, 
Gomar liked best the almost-ape people. 

"My best advice to you, friend Lion, 
is to lead your people far away, to seek 
some spot where the Bird is not. There 
you may grow to greatness. If you re- 
main here, the Creatures of the Bird will 
certainly hunt you down." 

"I know," Lion said. "When the 
leaves turn green again, I had planned 
to leave this land. But now — now^— " 

He could not go on. 

"What is one female more or less?" 
Gomar questioned. His shrewd old eyes 
watched Lion closely. "There are many 
females among your people and any of 
them will be glad to mate with you." 


"There is none like Tansy 1" Lion 
said quickly. 

"What the Creatures take, they never 
release," Gomar reminded him. 

"They must release Tansy 1" Lion 
said grimly. "They must ! Will you help 
me rescue her?" He looked fiercely at 
Gomar. 

■ "What can you and I do, when all 
the horse people failed?" Gomar ques- 
tioned. 

"We can try 1 " 

"We tried too!" 

"We can try again and again and 
keep on trying. They shall not have 
Tansy. If you will not help me, I " 

"What will you do?" Gomar ques- 
tioned. 

"I will go alone!" Lion answered. "I 
will try to rescue her, I will not give up 
until she is rescued or I am dead." 

Gomar shook his shaggy head. 

T ION turned and stalked away from 
the cave. His thought was of 
Tansy, of the clean lithe limbs and the 
eyes that were as bright as the skies of 
summer, his Tansy! The Creatures of 
the Bird should not have her, not while 
he lived. Without her, there would be 
no pleasure in being leader of the al- 
most-ape people; without her, living 
would have no point. If Gomar would 
not go with him, he would go alone. 
Gomar was old and tired and the fire 
had gone out of him. He no longer had 
the courage to dare and the strength 
to fight. 

A clatter sounded behind Lion. 
He whirled, flint-headed club com- 
ing up. 

It was Gomar following him. Gomar 
had donned a curiously-shaped breast- 
plate of metal. Slung in its harness at 
his side was the great sword. He was 
carrying in his hands the death that 
strikes from afar, the big black bow 
that Lion had often seen and wanted. 


110 


AMAZING STORIES 


"Ho, Lion," Gomar called. "Wait for 
me." 

"What do you want?" Lion grunted. 

"I am going with you!" 

"You are going with me! But you 
said " 

"I was testing you, testing your heart, 
the strength of your courage. I come 
now to help you, and if I cannot help 
you, to die beside you." 

Lion lowered the club until it rested 
on the ground. A slow smile glinted in 
his eyes. "You are very welcome," he 
said. 

It was an odd pair that went down 
the trail together, the last centaur on 
earth, and an ape who had become a 
man, but didn't know it yet. 

"There," said Gomar, cautiously 
parting the bushes, "is the Bird!" 

It rested below them in the valley, a 
great sleek thing of shining metal. Lion 
had never been so near to it before. It 
glistened in the sun. 

A few of its Creatures were visible 
around it. They were short and almost 
naked, with large heads, long pointed 
ears, and great staring eyes. Lion had 
seen them on hunting parties, but al- 
ways at a distance. Every time he saw 
one of them a qualm of fear passed 
through him. It was not fear in the 
ordinary meaning of the word — Lion 
had not gained his name for nothing — 
but a sort of sick uneasiness. Somehow, 
he knew these things did not belong on 
earth, that they had come here from 
somewhere else, some other world, some 
other place. Looking at them, Lion 
hated them. Between him and them 
there would be enmity forever, 

"There!" Gomar's voice hissed in his 
ear, "toward the nose of the Bird!" 

Gomar was pointing at a stockade, a 
rude pen made of poles thrust into the 
ground. It was a kind of a cage. The 
Creatures of the Bird used it to hold 
their meat animals against the time 


when they would be needed for food. 

Tansy was in this pen. 

A quiver passed through Lion at the 
sight. He started forward out of the 
shelter of the bushes. 

A rough hand jerked him back. 

"Have you grown tired of living, Lion 
of the almost-ape people?" Gomar 
growled in his ear. "Or do you think 
you can walk up to the Bird and order 
the Creatures to give up your female?" 

"That is Tansy," Lion faltered. 

"So I guessed," Gomar grunted. "To- 
night we will try to rescue her." 

"Tonight? But — " A horrible thought 
was in Lion's mind. "Suppose they kill 
her before tonight?" 

"Then we will go into the mountains 
to some safe place and build an altar 
and say prayers for her soul," Gomar 
answered. "And tomorrow you will take 
your people and leave this country." 

"But—" 

"There are no 'but's'!" Gomar said 
emphatically. "If you try to rescue her 
now, you will die. What good would a 
dead Lion be to Tansy, or to the almost- 
ape people?" 

There was only one answer to that 
question. 

^HEY waited in the shelter of the 
trees until darkness came. And 
while they waited, Gomar told Lion 
many things. 

He told Lion the secret of the death 
that strikes from afar, of the bent stave 
that throws a wooden shaft to the dis- 
tance. "Take a stave of well-seasoned 
wood, and with your knife, carve it 
down until it tapers to a point at both 
ends. Cut a notch in each end. Then 
slowly and gently bend the stave and 
attach a cord made of the tendons of the 
deer in the notches. Seel Like this." 

Gomar demonstrated how to bend 
and string the bow. The cord hummed 
as he touched it. "Now make arrows, 


BATTLE BEFORE DAWN 


111 


like these," he said. . "See that the 
feathers are properly cut and trimmed 
and that all of them come from the 
same wing of the bird. Tail feathers are 
no good. It is the wing feathers that 
are needed. And see that the shaft is 
straight or it will not fly true to its 
mark." 

Lion listened carefully. He looked 
doubtfully at his own heavy club. He 
had thought it was a good weapon, and 
it was, when you were closing with your 
enemy, but there were many times when 
the club could not be used. He had 
often seen the bow that Gomar used 
and he had wanted to possess it but he 
had assumed it was some kind of a 
magic weapon that only Gomar knew 
how to control. There was no magic in 
it, he now realized. A bow could be 
made by anyone who knew how. 

The thought sent a thrill through 
him. He could make a bow. 

Gomar handed the bow to him. He 
ran his fingers along it, felt the close 
grain of the wood, tested the string. 

"Here are the arrows," Gomar said. 
"Keep both bow and arrows for your- 
self and to serve as models from which 
others may be made." 

"You mean for me to keep them for- 
ever?" Lion gasped. 

"Yes," Gomar gruffly said. "Keep 
them — forever. Teach your people how 
to make and use them." 

It was a very valuable gift. Lion 
fondled the bow. "But why," he ques- 
tioned, "why do you give me these 
things?" 

Gomar did not answer. Lion sensed 
that Gomar was keeping something 
secret. 

"I want you to study this too," Go- 
mar said. He drew the sword from 
its scabbard. 

"You are giving me this too?" Lion 
whispered. Here was a gift that was 
really priceless! The great knife that 


did not get dull, that did not shatter 
when it struck something hard, as did 
the clumsy stone knives made by Lion's 
people. 

"I am not giving it to you," Gomar 
grunted. 

"Oh," Lion said. 

"I will trade it for your club." 

"What? You will trade this sword for 
my club?" 

"Yes." Gomar's answer was a grunt 
that did not reveal his real feelings. 

"But the sword is worth a hundred 
clubs," Lion blurted. "Why do you 
want to make such an uneven trade?" 

"Shall we say that I have my rea- 
sons?" Gomar answered. He would say 
nothing more, turning aside all of Lion's 
questions. "I have another secret," he 
said at last. "That is even more impor- 
tant than the sword." 

"What is that?" 

"The secret of making the sword." 

T ION listened. Gomar told him how 
the sword was made,1iow first ore 
of certain kinds must be sought, the 
copper and the tin, how they were melt- 
ed together and in what proportions, 
how the resulting mass of metal was 
pounded into shape and tempered, how 
the edge was honed to sharpness. Lion 
did not miss a single word. Here was 
a gift that was beyond all other gifts. 
Looking into the future, he could see 
his people with swords and bows, he 
could see them defeating their enemies, 
he could see them becoming strong, 
increasing in numbers, moving out of 
the forests and into the open lands. 

"It is a good dream," Gomar said, 
as if he sensed what Lion was thinking. 
"It was once the dream of the horse 
people. It would still be their dream, 

He looked down into the valley. Hard 
lights glittered in his eyes. Down there 
was the Bird and the Creatures of the 


112 


AMAZING STORIES 


Bird. And here was an end to the 
dreaming of the horse people. 

Night was coming before Gomar fin- 
ished telling all the details of the mak- 
ing of the sword. Below, in the valley, 
darkness, like some huge river silently 
pouring into a vast bowl, was flowing 
around the shining construction thai 
nestled there. Tansy was still in the 
pen. 

"What is your plan for rescuing her?" 
Gomar asked. 

Lion had been thinking about this. 
While he had listened to Gomar, he had 
never quite forgotten Tansy. He had 
already made a plan. "I will creep si- 
lently to the pen," he said. "With the 
sword you have given me, I will cut 
away one of the logs. Tansy will be 
able to slip through the opening." 

"Yes," Gomar nodded thoughtfully. 
"It might work. If the Creatures do 
not see you or smell you " 

Gomar seemed preoccupied with 
some other problem. It was obvious his 
mind was not on the rescue of Tansy. 
And, when they slipped down into the 
valley, Gomar would not go near the 
Bird. "I am not needed to assist in the 
rescue of the female," he said. "You 
have my sword. Go on alone." 

To Lion, it sounded very much as if 
Gomar was afraid. 

"Are you scared?" he asked. 

"It may be that I am," Gomar un- 
easily admitted. 

Lion went on alone. The last he saw 
of Gomar, the strange horse human was 
staring uneasily through the darkness 
at the outlines of the Bird. Gomar 
looked as if he wanted to run away. 
Lion wondered about Gomar. The horse 
human had seemed very brave in his 
cave. He had told of leading charges 
against the Creatures. Yet, when he 
came face to face with them, his cour- 
age seemed to falter. 

But Lion had little time to wonder 


about Gomar. He was very near the 
Bird now. Its size startled him. From 
the hills above, it had seemed a tiny 
thing. Here, near it, he saw how big it 
was. It would hold a great number of 
the Creatures. Rows of lighted ports 
twinkled along its sides. 

The Bird awed Lion. To him, who 
had not yet discovered he was human, 
the bird was magic, evil magic, and 
those who lived in it were master magi- 
cians. Looking at the Bird, he realized 
why Gomar was scared of it. The thing 
represented a future evil that made him 
shudder. The creatures who were mas- 
ters of this thing would be masters of 
earth. 

J-JE GOT a glimpse of the future, 
then, the future of his people. As 
long as the Bird remained, the almost- 
ape people would face misery and fear 
and hunger and death. Even if his 
people went far to the south and to the 
west, even if they hid in the lands be- 
yond the ends of the earth, where the 
sun retired each night, the Bird could 
follow them. The almost-ape people 
would have to hide from it — forever. 

The realization of this was a black 
shadow on Lion's mind. Momentarily, 
so dark was the shadow, he forgot even 
Tansy, crouched there in that butcher 
pen of the Creatures. What did it mat- 
ter whether or not he rescued Tansy? 
There was no future for them. The fu- 
ture was for the Creatures of the Bird. 
Even the great sword that Gomar had 
given him, the bow with its arrows that 
dealt death afar, were of no avail in any 
land where the Bird was. 

No wonder Gomar had seemed sad. 
Gomar had already seen the future. 

Lion went on to rescue Tansy. No 
leopard, stalking its prey, ever made a 
more cautious approach than did he. 
He felt the rough stockade of logs be- 
fore him. A low call brought Tansy 


BATTLE BEFORE DAWN 


scurrying to the point nearest him. 

"Is that you, Lion? Oh, Lion, go way 
quickly. Do not try to save me. Go far 
away. You will certainly be caught if 
you remain here." 

She was almost hysterical. 

"They haven't caught me yet," Lion 
said gruffly. "And as for you, keep 
silent." 

He began sawing at the logs with his 
sword. It was slow, tedious, hard work. 
The edge of the weapon was not as 
sharp as he had at first thought. The 
log was tough. He had to work in si- 
lence. For all he knew, the Creatures 
could see in the dark. They might be 
watching him now, laughing at him, 
preparing to launch a fire dart at him. 
Lion worked doggedly on. 

The log was cut almost through 
when the sound came. It was a click 
as of a stone being tossed against the 
body of the Bird. He froze. Was some- 
body throwing stones in the darkness? 

Click I 

The sound came again, louder this 
time. There was no mistaking it. Lion 
clearly heard the stone strike, heard 
it fall to the ground. 

He crouched against the stockade, 
pressing himself close to the ground. 

"What is it?" Tansy whispered. 

"I don't know " 

A jolt of pain shot through his head. 
He heard Tansy cry out. He had been 
looking at the Bird and something had 
flashed from it and had struck him in 
the eyes, blinding him. 

Lion didn't know it, but the things in- 
side the ship, hearing the stone strike, 
had turned on a searchlight and had 
focused it on the pen used to hold their 
captives. The light was very powerful. 
It struck Lion's eyes and blinded him. 

He leaped to his feet, and because 
he was blinded, tripped and fell. His 
eyes were red-hot balls of burning fire. 
At this short distance, the searchlight 


113 

was brighter than the sun. 

The things inside the ship saw Lion 
flopping around on the ground. They 
saw where he had been working at the 
stockade and knew that an effort had 
been made to rescue their prisoner. The 
would-be rescuer had been caught in 
the act. 

TT was a situation that appealed to 
their idea of fun. To them, the in- 
habitants of this planet were animals, 
fit for food, and maybe, if complete 
investigation revealed that the planet 
was suitable for large-scale colonization, 
the inhabitants would be fit for slaves. 
The Creatures of the Bird were a cruel, 
space-ranging race, seeking worlds to 
conquer. 

They saw Lion, blinded, stumbling 
around outside their stockade. 

"He was trying to get into the pen! " 
one shouted. 

"Let's go help him in, since he seems 
so eager to enter," a second suggested. 

This was a suggestion that really ap- 
pealed to them. They had had difficulty 
in keeping their larder stocked. Here 
was meat trying to get into the refrig- 
erator. They opened a lock, streamed 
out to grab the blinded Lion. 

Lion intuitively realized he must not 
continue looking at the light. He forced 
himself to look away. He was still part- 
ly blind but a little by a little his eyes 
were beginning to readjust. And — he 
knew now what had happened. 

Gomar had betrayed him! 

Gomar had thrown stones against the 
body of the Bird, knowing it would at- 
tract the attention of the Creatures I 

Gomar, in spite of his fine words, was 
working hand in glove with the Crea- 
tures of the Bird. No doubt he had ad- 
vised them on the best ways to set traps 
for the almost-ape people. Possibly he 
had betrayed his own kind, as he had 
certainly betrayed Lion. The gift of the 


114 


AMAZING STORIES 


sword, of the bow and arrows, had been 
cunning bait designed to lure Lion into 
a trap. 

Furious anger boiled within Lion at 
the thought. Gomar had betrayed him ! 
The anger was none the less furious 
because it was helpless. 

He heard the Creatures running to- 
ward him, heard them shouting glee- 
fully. He was able to see a little now. 
Not much. The light was still burning 
but by looking obliquely toward it, he 
got a glimpse of the coming Creatures. 
He fumbled on the ground for the 
sword, found it. 

"No, Lion!" a voice roared. 

Lion stared in amazement toward 
the source from which the voice had 
come. 

"Do not try to fight. Get your fe- 
male and run!" the voice continued. 

It was Gomar's voice. Gomar, the 
traitor ! Gomar was shouting to him to 
run! 

The Creatures heard the voice too. 
They turned abruptly. 

Then Lion saw something that he did 
not in the least understand. The round 
lighted door through which the Crea- 
tures had emerged from the Bird was 
momentarily darkened by a dark body 
passing through it. Lion saw the body 
against the light streaming from the 
open lock. 

The dark body was Gomar. 

Gomar was diving headfirst through 
the open door. Gomar was entering the 
Bird. Lion's club was held above his 
head. 

Two Creatures appeared in the door 
and the club struck at him, smashed 
them back and down. 

Gomar was attacking the Bird. 

J ION did not begin to understand 
what was happening. By his own 
admission, Gomar was a coward. Even 
the sight of the Creatures frightened 


him. He would not willingly go near 
the Bird. Yet here he was attacking it, 
diving into its body. Lion did not under- 
stand. 

If the half-blinded Lion was slow in 
understanding what was happening, the 
Creatures had no such difficulty. At- 
tracted by the voice shouting at Lion, 
they had turned around. They saw Go- 
mar enter through the lock. They knew 
what this meant. 

In an instant, they forgot all about 
Lion. Lion was not important now. 
There was something else that was 
much more important. There was 
danger here, and they knew it. They 
also knew that they had been tricked, 
very badly tricked. They ran toward 
the open part. One of the horse people 
was inside the Bird, was inside the ship 
that had brought them here. This 
meant something, to the Creatures. 
They ran through the port after Go- 
mar. 

Sounds of conflict came from within 
the Bird. Great roars of rage, the wild 
screaming of the battle-cry of the horse 
people, sharp, crackling sounds that 
could only come from the operation of 
the magic weapons of the Creatures. 

Lion stared in consternation at the 
Bird. What was going on here? He 
was suddenly aware that Tansy was 
beside him. She had knocked down the 
log he had almost cut through and had 
forced her way out of the stockade. 

"Run !" she was urging. 

Lion did not move. 

"Run!" Tansy shouted. "While they 
are busy we can get away. We must 
escape while we have the chance 1 " 

Lion did not budge. 

"Gomar is in the Bird!" he said. 

"What of it?" 

"You do not understand," Lion said 
slowly. "You would not say that if you 
understood." 

Lion was beginning to understand. 


BATTLE BEf 

With understanding was coming elation, 
a heart throb of pride and joy. Gomar 
had not betrayed him. Gomar might 
have sacrificed him but the sacrifice 
would have been in a worthy cause and 
it would not have been betrayal. Gomar, 
in throwing the stones against the Bird, 
had known what the Creatures would 
do when they saw him. 

Gomar's plan had been to enter the 
Bird! The only way he could do that 
was to trick the Creatures into opening 
the door. Then, while they chased Lion, 
Gomar would sneak into the Bird. 

Now that he understood what was 
happening, Gomar's plan had Lion's 
enthusiastic support. Drawing the 
sword, he started toward the Bird. 

He would help Gomar. The two of 
them, inside the Bird, could do great 
damage. The battle-cry of the almost- 
ape people was loud in the night. An- 
swering it from within the Bird came 
the battle-cry of the horse people. Lion 
rushed toward the port. 

It was slammed shut in his face. The 
last sound Lion heard was the great 
roaring battle-cry of Gomar, last of the 
horse people. 

Then a new sound came from within 
the Bird, a great throbbing pulsation, 
an earth-shaking night-filling clamor of 
hideous, blasting sound. 

The Bird began to rise into the air. 

J^ION knew that he could do nothing 
now. He knew, also, that the time 
had come to run. With Tansy beside 
him, he ran into the darkness. He still 
did not understand everything that had 
happened. 

A few minutes later his understand- 
ing was complete. They were a half 
mile away and had stopped to look back. 
The Bird was still rising in the air, beat- 
ing with wings of streaming flame at the 
sky. The roar coming from it was a 
continuous sound. Suddenly the roar 


}RE DAWN 115 

stopped. Simultaneously the flame com- 
ing from the Bird died out. 

The Bird lurched in the sky. It 
started to drop. Then the roar came 
again and the streamers of flame 
gleamed luridly in the night. But now 
the roar was broken and intermittent, 
the streamers of flame were jagged, 
flicked on and off. 

Something had been done to the Bird. 
Somewhere inside it something had 
been done. It moved slowly and errat- 
ically. And again the roar died. 

This time it did not come again. The 
Bird turned its nose toward the ground, 
fell like a falling star. Lion held his 
breath in anticipation of what he sensed 
was coming. 

It came. The Bird fell like a stone 
that has been dropped from a great 
height. It struck the earth. There was 
a rolling blast of sound like the roar 
of a hundred thunderstorms. Fury 
broke loose in the night. Flame climbed 
up toward the summit of the sky. The 
surface of the earth rolled with the ex- 
plosion. Like an animal ridding itself 
of a pestiferous fly, the surface of the 
earth twitched. 

For several minutes there was a 
heavy rain of bits of metal falling to the 
ground, metal that had climbed sky- 
high and now was coming back to its 
final resting place. Lion knew that the 
Bird was finished. It was done forever. 
And he knew something else too. 

"Gomar! " he whispered. "Gomar en- 
tered the Bird and destroyed it. He 
knew, while it remained, there would be 
no peace for us. He destroyed it — for 
us." 

In his heart was a glow of gratitude 
for Gomar, who was the last of the horse 
people, for Gomar, who had died in the 
flaming wreckage of the Bird. Gomar 
had died, but Lion sensed that some- 
thing of Gomar would live forever. 

Lion would tell the story of Gomar 


116 


AMAZING STORIES 


and of Gomar's sacrifice to his sons and 
daughters and they in turn would tell 
it to their children. The story would 
roll down the generations for uncounted 
ages. The almost-ape people might for- 
get that Gomar had given them the bow 
and the sword, they might think even- 
tually that they had discovered these 
things for themselves. But they would 
use what Gomar had given them to be- 


come a mighty people, to become a 
flood of life pouring over the surface 
of the earth. And always they would 
remember something of what Gomar 
had given them. 

Gomar would become a legend, a 
folk memory of a race that was half 
horse and half human. He would have 
liked that. 

THE END 


AMAZING FACTS 

By A. MORRIS 

Odd bits of truth exist in our daily life which are 
perhaps even more amazing than fiction itself 


THE beavers are the largest gnawers of our 
continent. They are possessed of large 
front teeth and broad flat tails. Their 
noses are not large but are quite sensitive, and 
their activities are numerous and interest i ng. 
They weigh up to forty pounds and are well 
adapted to life in water. The hind feet are webbed 
and are equivalent to oars on a rowboat, the flat 
tail serves as a rudder and also as a propelling 
organ since by means of it the beaver may push 
himself along. In mating, the beaver is said to 
beat the surface of the water with his flat tail 
(.hereby making a great slap or crash on the 
water. This is indeed a strange way to get a 
mate, but it is quite effective for the beaver. 

To build a dam, the beaver gathers stones, 
willow shoots, driftwood and amazingly enough 
fells trees for this purpose. It has been said that 
beavers can fell a tree to within a hair's breadth 
of where they want it to fall. With their huge 
•-inawing teeth and strong jaws, it would seem 
that they could cut down anything. The beavers 
build their dams to fit the streams they are built 
in. The streams are selected with care usually 
where the water is not moving too fast. If the 
stream is sluggish, the dam is built straight across 
it. If not, the dam is built in a curved path 
following the line of motion of the stream. It is 
quite a sight to see, several beavers busily hus- 
tling to and from, carrying sticks and stones 
across stretches of land and water. 

The beavers also build homes. They do not 
build mansions or palaces, rather two or three 
room fiats. Their rooms are not so great in size 
but several beavers may live in the same house 
and they store their food in one room of it. 


Beavers eat bark and leaves, maybe even little 
fish. 

Beavers are sociable animals. They even build 
large meeting places to gather in. The entrance 
to both house and meeting place is almost in- 
evitably found under the water. The houses and 
dams are not beautiful by any mean, yet they are 
strong enough to resist both the flow of the river, 
the torrents of rain, the stress of the wind and 
the cold of the ice. We must admire this little 
animal whose industry is scarcely paralleled in 
nature. 

* * * 

DIRD life in the occupied countries is threat- 
ened with extinction, as a result of thefts of 
eggs by hungry people. The Hague correspondent 
of Pester Lloyd, a Budapest newspaper, said that 
although field birds such as spoonbills and lap- 
wings had decreased by 35 per cent during the 
last 50 years, the reduction had become even 
more noticeable since the war because people go 
on egg bunts during breeding time and empty the 
nests. 

Since regulations for the protection of bird life 
are not being observed, bird lovers are tying to 
help by acting as voluntay watchmen near breed- 
ing places, the correspondent reported. 

* * + 

1ITE SWEAT when we are hot, and we shiver 
* * when we are cold. Even the most uneducated 
person is acquainted with these two facts, yet it 
is not so well understood just why they occur. 

From the beginning it must be understood that 
the body is an amazing machine with various and 
innumerable devices for receiving impressions and 
reacting to them. Another point which it is neces- 


AMAZING FACTS 


117 


sary to understand is that the brain possesses 
similar devices, more complex but nevertheless 
amazing in their scope and ability to perform 
necessary functions. Just such a part of the brain 
is the temperature regulator in the lower portion. 

When the brain is informed of changes which 
take place around the surface of the body, by 
means of nerves, it causes various actions by use 
of its own nerves. .As an example, when the body 
surroundings are cold, the thermostat goes into 
action by shunting blood away from the skin so 
that there is no chance of the blood conducting 
cold internally; another example of what hap- 
pens when this center is informed of cold is that 
it causes the muscles to twitch. Muscle twitching 
burns up energy and causes heat to be liberated; 
this, of course, is similar to turning on the radi- 
ators in our homes, for it heals up all parts of the 
body. 

When the surroundings become warm, the body 
and thermostat are prepared for this also. We 
tend to be lazy irl heat thereby cutting down the 
source of much body heat; similarly the blood is 
shunted toward the outside and near to the sur- 
face where evaporation of sweat takes place. This 
is very important; we all know that evaporation 
causes cooling from the fact that if we place a 
hand dipped in lukewarm water in front of a 
fan blowing warm air, we perceive instant cool- 
ing. The body uses this to keep itself from getting 
too warm. The above statements have much 
practical use: they explain why one should not 
take a hot bath after eating. Since the blood 
must be near the gut for proper digestion, taking 
it away to cool the body, as would be done in 


any warm place, is harmful to the digestion. It 
must be confessed that there is hardly a more 
interesting precise mechanism in the entire human 
body than the functioning of the thermostat. 
* * * 

YJL7E AMERICANS must use every available 
* * trick we know to increase our production for 
the war effort and after we have used our known 
tricks we'll have to think up some new ones. 

One of the latest to be introduced is the use of 
color in factories to increase output by cutting 
down accidents and fatigue among workers. The 
usual black and drab gray colors used on ma- 
chines quickly tires the workers, especially when 
they are forced to stay at their machines for ex- 
tended periods of time. 

By testing various colors it was found that if 
there was a contrast between the color of the 
machine and the color of the materials worked on, 
accidents were reduced to a minimum. Further 
tests between the colors used gave light buff the 
number one position in effectiveness although 
aluminum and light grey were close runners-up 
in the order named. Yellow was tried but it was 
found to tire the workers too much and could not 
be used. The use of colors tended to lend a more 
cheerful atmosphere to the surroundings and this 
is especially helpful in maintaining the spirits and 
thus the output of women workers. 

Not only does the management benefit from the 
reduced accident rate and increased efficiency of 
workers, but there is a decided reduction of over- 
head costs through the use of color. The light col- 
ors do not absorb as much light and thus a great- 
er efficiency is given to the plant's lighting system. 


VIGNETTES OF FAMOUS SCIENTISTS 

(Continued from page 103) 


park, and in the buildings surrounding it. The 
Emperor then crowned his benificences by pur- 
chasing a house for him in Prague, and into this 
Tycho moved with his family in February, 1601. 
But before the year had come to an end, and just 
as he was beginning to enjoy the comforts and 
honors of his new home, he fell ill, and in less 
than two weeks passed away at the early age of 
less than fifty-rive years. 

In estimating Brahe's position as a scientific 
man it is necessary to remember that in his day 
the study of the heavens was carried on mainly 
in the hope of enabling the student to cast correct 
horoscopes, and that those who interested them- 
selves in such work were really astrologers, and 
in no sense astronomers, as the word is used today. 
Furthermore, practically all the patrons of the art, 
the rulers and men of wealth who encouraged and 
supported celestial observation and study, did so 
mainly in the hope that discoveries might ensue 
that would redound to their material benefit, or 
enable them to avoid threatened danger or prolong 


life. The same was true of the alchemistic art, 
which had for its object the discovery of ways 
to transmute the base into the precious metals, and 
to produce elixirs or drugs that would prolong 
life or cure its ills. Neither astronomy nor 
chemistry as sciences had yet been born. 

Brahe was really an astrologer and alchemist, 
and no more. He held to the Ptolemaic cosmology, 
and rejected that of Copernicus, not because the 
former appealed to his reason and the latter did 
not, but because the authorities of the Church 
of the day supported the one, and condemned 
the other. Into the matter of the reasonableness 
of this position he had no inclination to inquire. 

Hence, though he was a brilliant and ingenious 
inventor of appliances for observational use, and 
with their aid made a very large number of obser- 
vations of note, they led to nothing in the way 
of a better understanding of the cosmos. The 
same may be said of his laboratory work, ail 
records of which have disappeared, if notes were 
ever made. 


JlwwpsoiisVnw 



- It 


By SGT. MORT 
WEISI NGER 


THROUGH the blue haze of cig- 
arette smoke the tall, red-headed 
chap stared quizzically across the 
room at the dapper, fair-haired little 
man, whose waxed mustache bristled 
belligerently. 

"You're out of luck, Thompson," the 
little man snapped. "You shouldn't 
have started that story without consult- 
ing me first. That serial isn't worth 
the paper it's printed on!" 

Young Donald Thompson stroked 
his tanned forehead and scowled. 

"A fine editor you are! You admit 
that the story is my best literary work 
to date — even better than nly last nov- 
elette which you featured — yet you'll 
permit a mere handful of reader's let- 
ters to influence you. What are you 
anyway — the editor of Rocket Stories, 
or a puppet?" 

The little man waved his hands, re- 
leasing nervous energy. 

"Now look here, Thompson," he said 
placatingly, "I've told you before that 
all time-traveling stories were taboo 
with this magazine office. My readers 
are too sophisticated. Doctors, lawyers, 
students and professional men in all 
different walks of life are enthusiastic 
followers of my publication. If there is 
anything at all that disturbs them, it's 
an illogical story. Why, the last time 
I printed a time-traveling story, we re- 
ceived dozens of protests from readers. 


If you went back in time to kill 
your grandpop, you wouldn't be born to go 
back to kill— jus* how would it work out? 

119 


12U 


AMAZINS STORIES 


No matter how ingenious be the plot, 
the old 'grandfather' argument invar- 
iably whips the author!" 

"Grandfather argument?" echoed 
Thompson. "What's that?" 

"What!" the little man exploded. 
"Haven't you ever looked at the read- 
ers' letters in my magazine?" 

"Only when my name is mentioned," 
Thompson admitted, a sheepish grin 
spreading over his face. "What's it all 
about?" 

The little man twirled his mustache. 
"That explains a lot of things," he 
murmured to himself absent-mindedly. 
He went on. "I'll explain it to you — as 
briefly as I can make it." 

"Let us say that John Jones builds 
a time-machine. With it he manages to 
project himself into the past. Once 
transported there, he confronts his 
grandfather when the latter is yet in 
his knee-pants. Jones kills his grand- 
father and thereby biologically prevents 
his own birth. Since John Jones is 
already living, despite the death of his 
progenitor, the fallacy of the entire af- 
fair becomes apparent at once. And 
that, Mr. Thompson, is why all time- 
traveling stories are one hundred per- 
cent sheer oil of over-ripe bananas!" 

"It does sound impossible when you 
put it that way," commented Thomp- 
son. "Your readers certainly are clever. 
I guess you can't put anything over on 
them. You win — I'll throw this yarn 
into the junk-heap." 

"Go home and forget it, Don," mol- 
lified the editor. "Tap out an inter- 
planetary story or some formula fourth- 
dimension stuff. I can even use a sun- 
spot story — but for Pete's sake — lay off 
traveling into the past ! " 

"Sure, skipper, sure," agreed young 
Thompson rather abstractedly as he 
walked across the luxuriously carpeted 
floor of the office of Rocket Stories and 
slammed the door behind him. 


Lou Hellers, the capable editor of 
Rocket Stories, gazed into space specu- 
latively. He turned to his secretary and 
frowned. 

"You know, Viola," he said, "maybe 
I shouldn't have turned down that 
story. What the hell, it held my interest 
all the way through and was damn well 
written. And that's more than I can 
say for a lot of the stuff I've been read- 
ing lately. Heck, those readers make 
me sick, always yammering for brand 
new stories, with plausible plots and 
scientific data that an Einstein couldn't 
find a hole in. After all, we publish 
fiction, and as long as a story is enter- 
taining — well, that's all there is to it. 
What the hell if the time-traveling 
theme is hackneyed and illogical. It's 
still good for a thrill or two! Say"— 
Hellers suddenly demanded of his sec- 
retary— "you don't think Thompson 
will get sore and peddle that yarn to 
that lousy Modern Aladdin Stories? 
Wouldn't my face be red if it clicked 
there and the fans went wild about it ! " 

Viola Smith, Heller's winsome secre- 
tary, reached for an ashtray and ground 
out her lipstick-daubed cigarette. 
"Nope, boss. Thompson's a pretty loyal 
cuss. He took me out to lunch a couple 
of days ago and I sounded him out 
about our competition. He thinks the 
world of our outfit. And he was pretty 
pleased to hear that you intended boost- 
ing his word-rate. You should have seen 
his face glow when I showed him the 
proofs on the next cover — the one with 
his name splashed all over it." 

Hellers leaned back in his swivel 
chair. "You know, Viola," he said 
thoughtfully, blowing smoke ceiling- 
ward as he spoke, "maybe I can get 
Thompson to save that story by a re- 
write. He'll have to cut six thousand 
words and speed up the action at the 
beginning to give it a snappier start. I'll 
fix up the motivation angle myself and 


THOMPSON'S TIME-TRAVELING THEORY 


121 


change' the time-traveling explanation. 
After all Thompson's name on a cover 
does boost old man circulation." 

Hellers glanced at his wristwatch, 
saw that it lacked twenty minutes to 
closing time. He reached for a pink re- 
jection slip and expertly tucked it in 
between the clip on a manuscript and its 
first page. "It's another story from that 
guy on the coast who thinks we never 
read A. Merritt," he explained to his 
secretary. "By the way, Vi," he said 
abruptly, "how about dinner with me 
tonight? I promise not to talk shop." 

JT WAS almost a year later before 

Donald Thompson entered the offices 
of Rocket Stories again. On that mo- 
mentous occasion, Lou Hellers brought 
his fist down on his glass-topped desk 
with a smashing impact. He yanked 
his imported cigar from his mouth, 
hurled it to the floor and stamped on it 
with one heel, viciously, deliberately. 
Then he shot out one arm and pointed 
a shaking figure at the man before him. 

"You — you!" he flamed, almost in- 
coherent from anger. "How can you 
have the nerve to walk into this office? 
You don't think you can get away with 
the stunt you pulled — " 

"Cut the dramatics Louie, you old 
soandso," interrupted the object of 
Hellers' wrath, a very much unper- 
turbed Donald Thompson. "What's 
eating you?" 

"What's eating me?" Hellers explod- 
ed. "I ought to throw you right out on 
your ear. The way you walked out on 
me. For one whole year you disappear. 
Thousands of readers write in yelping 
for a Thompson serial — and where the 
hell are you? We want to put out an 
annual and feature a Thompson novel 
— and Donald Thompson has moved to 
parts unknown ! I get an offer on movie 
rights for your 'Hybrid of Horror,' and 
not even Waller Winchell knows what 


happened to you. No answer to phone 
calls, special deliveries, telegrams. 
Swell guy you are walking out on us. 
What's the kick — haven't we always 
treated you swell? You know that 
whenever you needed any dough you 
always had my okay for an advance. 
You're a big bum!" 

Thompson brushed an imaginary 
speck of lint from his suit. 

"Not bad pyrotechnics, Louie. I 
could give you a lot of alibis — but why 
use 'em? I could tell you that I'm sick 
of writing novels that bring golden 
shekels into the coffers of your mag — 
but which have me going nuts trying to 
write up. Besides, why should I write 
science fiction? The market is damned 
limited. You turn down a story and 
what markets are left? Just one or two 
places— and there are fifty million hams 
trying to break in there and my stuff 
gets lost in the shuffle. I'm off for big- 
ger and better things." 

"So which?" came back the irritated 
editor. 

"So I'm telling you that you're going 
to chew your own words in another 
minute," answered Thompson. "Where 
do you think I've been during the past 
year? What do you think I've been 
doing?" 

"That's easy," guessed Hellers. 
"Either writing the great American 
novel or going in for an expanded love 
life." 

"Louie, you dope," said Thompson 
eagerly "I've built a time machine." 

Hellers turned to Viola. He tapped 
his forehead significantly. "It got him, 
kid. Too much science fiction." 

Thompson jabbed Hellers with his 
forefinger. "On the level, Louie, I've 
done it. I just finished the thing yester- 
day. I'd like to tell you how it works, 
but you'd probably want to lift it and 
pass it off in one of your editorials. 
I've devised a means of traveling into 


122 


AMAZING STORIES 


the past. And do you know what I'm 
going to do, Louie? I'm going into the 
past and kill my grandfather! Then 
we'll see just how hot you and your 
readers are!" 

Hellers stared at Thompson, hard 
and long. Somehow he sensed that the 
author wasn't trying to put anything 
over on him; he did sound convincing. 

"How does it work, Don? What are 
its principles?" 

"Nix!" answered Thompson. "I 
flatly refuse to tell you about it. I could 
give you a lot of talk about rays, 
spheres, vibrations, dimensions and the 
rest of the works. Read my story 'The 
Time Tryant' and that may give you an 
idea. But I absolutely refuse to give 
you any details whatsoever concerning 
the functioning of my machine. At 
least, not util I've completed killing my 
grandfather. Maybe after then. But 
not now." 

"When do you intend to start your 
time- traveling activities?" 

"Right now. Today," answered the 
young author. "Maybe I'll get a story 
out of it." He strode out of the office. 
It was the last time Lou Hellers ever 
saw him alive. 

* * * 

JQON THOMPSON revolved some of 
the very intricate rheostats and 
dials in his time-machine and brought 
the apparatus to a stop. ' This," he said 
to himself, "should be the year 1870. 
A little hunting and I should find my 
father's old man." He fingered his re- 
volver knowingly. Despite his facetious 
outlook there was grim, cold purpose- 
fulness in his movements. 

It wasn't very difficult for him to lo- 
cate his late ancestor, alive and kick- 
ing. Careful questioning of the var- 
ious people in the neighborhood had 
achieved his desire. Young Thompson 
looked him over. He looked like a 


good-natured cuss; tall, gangling, with 
an infectious boyish smile and a pair 
of old-fashioned spectacles. 

Therefore, it was with some regret 
that Thompson leveled his weapon at 
the fourteen-year old lad who was even- 
tually destined to be his grandfather 
and pumped a bullet at his forehead. 
For a moment Thompson stood and 
watched the twisted, amazed expression 
that filled the boy's face as he toppled 
to the floor. Thompson watched the 
blood ooze all over the youth's forehead, 
then made a hasty retreat to his time 
machine. It would not do to be appre- 
hended for his act in this strange time- 
world. 

There was no emotion in him other 
than that he had fulfilled a task that had 
been gnawing at his inner consciousness 
for several months. He didn't think of 
himself as a murderer. He considered 
himself a lawful executioner, who had 
killed in the interests of science. He 
was fascinated by this time-traveling 
business and wanted to see what its 
eventual outcome would be. 

Again he expertly arranged the dials 
and switches in their proper order. A 
faint, resounding hum told him that he 
was being projected into the present 
from which he had come. This was the 
dangerous part of the experiment, he 
felt. Suppose he had miscalculated — 
suppose his mathematical reasoning had 
a fallacious postulate behind it. Sup- 
pose he wouldn't arrive in his own 
time .... 

The machine abruptly came to a stop 
with a jarring smash that shook him 
and ejected him violently out of it. He 
landed on cool, green grass. The terrain 
looked natural enough, but he was un- 
familiar with its location. Puzzled, 
Thompson turned to the time machine. 
It was hopelessly smashed, a mass of 
tangled but bent metal. How in the 
world he had ever survived the crash • 


THOMPSON'S TIME-TRAVELING THEORY 


123 


and what had caused it he didn't dare 
to ask himself. 

He shrugged his shoulders and pro- 
ceeded to follow up a path nearby. For 
two miles he walked, looking for signs 
of civilization. Finally, just as he was 
beginning to feel weary from his exer- 
tions and the beating sun which was 
sapping his energy, he made out a 
walled-in estate in the distance. Hope 
surged within him. He raced briskly to 
it,. hoping against hope that he was in 
his own time. 

As he entered the estate he noticed 
two neatly dressed men, clad in white 
clothes, earnestly engaged in discussion. 

"For Heaven's sake, man," he said 
breathlessly, "what year is this?" 

^HE TWO men exchanged knowing 
glances between them. "This is 
the year 1943," tolerantly replied the 
shorter one, as if humoring a madman. 
"Why do you ask?" 

Thompson breathed an audible sigh 
of relief. Thank Providence nothing 
had gone wrong. He was safe after all. 
Ignoring their questions he spoke again, 
this time in as casual a tone as he could 
manage, for they must not think him 
mad. "How far is it from here to New 
York? What town in this?" 

The two strangers literally jumped 
into the air. Their faces registered ex- 
pressions of extreme surprise, and the 
shorter man's mouth yawned wide open 
in evident astonishment. Equally be- 
wildered, Thompson watched them. 
The taller man started to speak, but 
his companion pulled him aside and for 
a minute they whispered to one another. 

"Don't you know," said the shorter 
one at last, "New York was wiped out 
of existence during the war of 1920? 
The Germans did it with poison gas." 

Thompson stared at them, trying to 
disbelieve. A ghastly premonition was 
gaining hold on him. He darted ques- 


tions at them. Always came back the 
answer he had hoped would not come. 
Gradually, by questioning the two men. 
he pieced together the whole picture. 
The fact that he had killed his grand- 
father had altered the entire course of 
human history. His grandfather had 
been a World War major, had won 
some strategic positions. By eliminating 
his grandfather from the picture, those 
positions had never been taken, and 
the entire outcome of the war had been 
influenced. 

Because of his prank Thompson had 
unwittingly removed all ties with the 
world he knew. No friends left . . . gone 
was his sweetheart . . . what could he 
do for a living now? All this he realized 
in a fleeting instant. Mechanically 
he reached for his revolver, pointed it 
at his temple. It was only fitting that 
he should die from the same gun that 
had killed his grandfather. With grim 
resolve he pulled the trigger and fell 
dead, a ragged hole m his forehead. 

At the sound of the shot two uni- 
formed men ran up to the two white- 
clad strangers who stood looking at the 
dead Thompson. 

"What have you nuts been telling this 
guy," shouted one of them. "Not about 
that phoney last war of yours?" 

The two asylum inmates nodded affir- 
matively. "Sure," one of them volun- 
teered, "we told him how New York 
was wiped out and the rest. Then he 
shot himself." 

"These two nuts should be in a 
straight-jacket," commented one of the 
guards. "Always harping on that last 
war of theirs." 

Donald Thompson had never noticed 
that, in the picture of his grandfather 
in the family album, the man had. had 
a white, furrowed scar on his forehead 
that might have been caused by a glanc- 
ing bullet. If he had, things might have 
been different. . . . 



JOURNEY 

IN TIME TO 

CLEOPATRA 


IIP 


By Hank entered the Indianapolis 

HELMAR race with a new fuel in his racer — and 
LEWIS wound up twenty centuries in the past! 


k 


IT HAPPENED all on account of 
Futsy Dugan. Futsy was one of 
those guys who's always futsing 
around with this, that and the other 
thing. If he wasn't trying to invent a 
new kind of rocket racer, then he was 
almost blowing all us out of house, home 
and happiness with a new mixture of 
oil for my racing buggy. As a matter 
of fact, that's just what he was doing 
when all this happened. 

You see, I'm Hank Conners. You 
must'vc heard about me. I'm one of 
them auto-racers you see shooting 
around a track like as if they was nuts. 
Some of the guys in the know say as 
how I'm one of the best. Maybe I am. 


Anyhow, I was born with a tire-wrench 
in one hand, an oil-pump handle in the 
other and the smell of exhaust gas in 
my nose. On account of my old man 
was the Billy Conners, grand old man 
of the auto-racers, and you heard of 
him! Him and my mother used to go 
barnstorming around the fairs for their 
living. And I was born one day right 
after my mother had cracked her bus 
up in a bad spill. i 

But getting back to Futsy — He was 
my boss mechanic and a better guy 
never walked the earth. What he didn't 
know about automobiles in general — 
and my Diesel auto-racer in particular 
— just wasn't worth knowing. 

I don't know where he found the time 
to do it — but Futsy read a book, a 
chemistry book. And it was all about 
how you put this kind of stinky stuff 
in that kind of stinky stuff and you got 
another kind of stinky stuff. Anyhow, 
Futsy said as how he was sure he could 



126 


AMAZING STORIES 


get an oil mixture that'd do wonders 
with my Diesel. 

It did I Futsy had no idea about the 
kind of wonders it was going to do. 
Maybe he might have gotten a good 
idea if he knew what happened to all 
the wrenches and bolts and a lot of 
other auto equipment that began to dis- 
appear just when he started to work on 
his new oil-mixture. Futsy blamed it 
onto thieves and let it go at that on ac- 
count of he was too busy with his oil- 
mixture experiments to worry about it. 
But it was me that shelled out the 
dough for all that stuff and I was plenty 
het up about it. I even socked a big 
roustabout at the track on account of 
he called me a liar when I accused him 
of heisting all that stuff. 

Anyhow, it all happened one day 
when we was down at the Indianapolis 
brick-track for one of the biggest races 
of the year. My little Diesel job was 
all tuned up and running as sweet as a 
green-grass filly just out of the feed- 
box. We was cooking with good old oil, 
but Futsy says as how he'd got the 
formula for the new oil all worked out 
and he'd made up a big batch of it for 
us to use in the race. Me, I don't go 
for that new-fangled stuff and I tried 
to rule it out. But Futsy, he was so het 
up about what his new oil could do, he 
insisted almost with tears in his eyes 
that we try the stuff out at least. 

"Jus' gimme one break, Hank!" he 
says. 

"Suppose it don't work!" I says. 

"It will!" Futsy insists. "Better'n 
anything we ever used; I'm telling you 
the stuff's better'n dynamite. It'll 
smack the pistons like a ton of bricks 
and send the old bus scooting around 
the track like as if it was a million 
horsepower plant!" 

So I lets him have his way and he 
fills up the tank of my racer with the 
new oil. Funny thing happened, though. 


Even at the race-track, where we was 
warming up my racer, a couple or three 
tools mysteriously disappeared from 
where Futsy was working with them. 
That should have gave me a clue about 
what was going to happen. But it 
didn't. I was worried about Red In- 
gram, the dirtiest auto-racer that ever 
side-swiped a guy on a sharp turn, on 
account of he was also entered in this 
Indianapolis Special. I'd beaten him 
out plenty the last year and, from the 
dirty looks he gave me at the club- 
house, I knew he was going to try some 
of his dirty tricks on me. 

But I ain't one for worrying much 
about the other guy on account of I'm 
pretty well able to take care of myself, 
and Red Ingram. So I checked my in- 
struments and stuff while Futsy was 
filling the tank with his new oil. The 
Diesel was hitting like sixty and I 
figures that maybe this here new oil is 
all that Futsy said it is. It sure deliv- 
ered more power than any other fuel 
we'd been using. 

JN NO time we was all lined up at 
the starter's line waiting for him to 
drop the checkered flag. I give a look 
back to where Red Ingram was hunched 
behind the wheel of his Ingram Special 
and I grins at him. But Red, he don't 
give out with nothing but a dirty look 
that woulda sent the chills down 
another guy's spine. Not me, though. 
I just laughed in his face and turned 
back to watch the starter. 

All of a sudden, the starter dropped 
his flag. Red was off with a roar of 
motors that was always sweet music to 
my ears. Like I always do, I'm not too 
anxious to take the lead first off. Let 
the other guy do that, I say, and wear 
himself out. I like to conserve my 
strength until the end of the race when 
you need it most. So, with all the 
other guys roaring past me, I just idled 


JOURNEY IN TIME TO CLEOPATRA 


127 


along, nursing the Diesel like as if it 
was a baby. But, all the time I'm get- 
ting a funny feeling in my stomach. It 
was like as if I was holding in the 
reins for a million horses. You know 
what I mean? Like as if all I had to 
do was step down a little harder on the 
accelerator and I'd go shooting around 
the track a million miles a minute. 

I don't know. Maybe it was that 
there new oil Futsy had put into the 
tank. Anyhow, that's how I felt. I 
gave a look out of the corner of my eye 
to see what the other guys around were 
doing. 

Sure enough, who do I see idling 
along with me at the first turn but 
Red Ingram. He's still got that dirty 
look on his mug. Then I see him take 
a quick gander at the turn ahead. I see 
his hands grip the wheel of his car, 
and I know I've got to do a heap of 
quick thinking and snappy driving if 
I'm to get out of this one. 

Red was on the inside of the turn. 
And pacing me just as we made it, I 
see his car slide over to mine, and I 
know he's out to sideswipe me like he's 
done to many another poor guy, and 
like he's tried out on me couple or 
three times. Most of the green drivers, 
of course, would try to pull away. 
That's the first thing you'd think of 
doing. And that's what Red would be 
looking for on account of he'd just keep 
on edging closer and closer until you 
lost control of your car and went shoot- 
ing out over the embankment or into 
another car. 

But not me! No sirree! I don't 
back water for no guy, not even if his 
name is Red Ingram. So, instead of 
pulling away from him, what do I do 
but turn my wheel so's my car edges 
in closer to his. That fazes Red for a 
second and I see him step pulling his 
Special over. That meant that I had 
the edge on him. So I turn my wheel 


a little and pull my bus over to his a 
little more. 

*^pHAT'S where I made my mistake, 
I guess. I should've been satisfied 
with just fazing him into not going 
ahead with his dirty work. But me, 
I got my Irish up and I figures I'll 
teach Red a lesson he won't forget for 
a long time. So I keeps on crowding 
him closer and closer to the inside 
thinking maybe I could force him to 
swing away sharply, lose control of his 
car and go smashing out into the field. 

Red sees what I'm up to, and just 
as we're both pulling out of the turn, 
our cars only about a foot apart, he 
goes me one better. Instead of pulling 
away, he gives his wheel a quick jerk, 
laughs in my face and swings the front 
of his racer smack into the side of 
mine! 

I tried to swing away from him. But 
it was no use. He kept on coming. 
And before I knew what was happen- 
ing, he was right on top of me and 1 
could hear the crunch of his fenders 
smashing against mine. 

Then a funny thing happened. Red's 
car stopped short all of a sudden. 
Something must've happened to his 
brakes, I guess, in the crash. He came 
flying out of his seat and landed smack 
into the seat of my own bus! 

Then another funny thing happened. 
It seems that, when Red's car hit mine, 
he hit my tank a glancing blow. Maybe 
it made sparks. Maybe it was just 
the shock of his car against the tank. 
Maybe it was a dozen other things, I 
don't know. But, all of a sudden, a 
big cloud of smoke began to come out 
of the gas tank. It was a funny green- 
ish color shot through with streaks of 
blue and red and what-not. And it 
stank out loud, almost as bad as Futsy's 
laboratory used to stink. And it come 
over and around Red and me in the car, 


128 


AMAZING STORIES 


like as if it was that there camouflage 
smoke that is used in war. 

And, then, all of a sudden, I began 
to feel like as if I was holding the wheel 
behind a million horsepower power- 
plant! The smoke got in my eyes and 
nose and I began to cough plenty so's 
I was sure I'd soon be crashing into 
one of the racers ahead of me. And, 
all the time, I felt kind of woozy in the 
head, and light, as if my body had lost 
all its weight and I was a cloud, or 
something. 

The last thing I heard was the yelling 
of the crowd in the stands. You know 
how they act up when a serious smash- 
up is in the cards. That's what they 
come out to see: dangerous risky driv- 
ing and the more smashups the merrier, 
on account of it makes them feel all the 
safer sitting in their comfortable seats 
in the stands. 

T DON'T know how long I was out. 

It must've been a long time on ac- 
count of, when I come to, I didn't hear 
that there crowd yelling for blood. For 
a long time, I didn't even hear the roar 
of my Diesel, only a funny kind of si- 
lence, the kind that's in a graveyard 
at the hour of midnight or in a haunted 
house. And, funny thing, I was sure 
I heard music, like as if it was a mil- 
lion miles away. But that don't last 
for long on account of, pretty soon, I 
feel myself coming out of it like when I 
used to come out of a sock on the button 
in a knock-down brawl. And I shake 
my head to clear it. 

Then I hears the sound of the mob 
in the stands again, coming back to me 
very faint at first but getting louder 
and louder until it was close up. Hank, 
I says to myself, if you can still hear 
them yelling bums, then you're still 
alive. I looks down at the seat and I 
- see Red Ingram is still there scrunched 
up like as if he'd been out for a month 


of Sundays. But I guessed he was alive. 

By this time my head was all clear 
and I knew everything that was going 
on. So I take a gander around me to 
see where I am and what the other 
racers is doing so's I wouldn't smash 
into them. 

Holy smoke! I don't see no auto- 
racers a-tall! I see I'm on a race-track 
all right on account of there's nothing 
that looks more like a race track than 
another race-track, and on account of 
there was a standful of people all 
around us. But I don't see no auto- 
racers. What I do see is a bunch of 
guys driving around the track in little 
wagons ! And there's a flock of horses 
pulling each wagon. And there's 
wicked long knives sticking out of the 
sides of the wheels so's a guy like Red 
Ingram could never pull a side-swip- 
ing trick. 

Where the dickens am I? 

And then I suddenly remembers I'd 
seen something like this before. At a 
moving picture I once went to. Ben- 
Hur, it was called, I remember. And 
it had a cute little dame in it who was 
sacrificed to the lions, or something. I 
remember how it was a story of what 
took place hundreds and hundreds of 
years ago. In Rome, I guess, where 
spaghetti comes from. And how the 
racers drove horse-carts around a track 
and the guy that won got the hand of 
the Emperor's daughter, or something. 

Then I take a look at the stands and 
I see they're just like the stands I saw 
in the picture. And the people are 
dressed in dresses just like they'd been 
in the picture. I had all I could do to 
swing away from a couple of them 
there horse-drawn buggies so's I 
wouldn't smack slam-bang into them. 

And I holler out loud, so's it awak- 
ened Red Ingram. 

"What the blankety-blank am I doing 
here! " he yelps, which is my sentiments 


JOURNEY IN TIME TO CLEOPATRA 


129 


exactly. I couldn't say a word, then. 

O ED came out of it kind of slow 
first. When he saw me, he snarled 
out, "What the hell you doing driving 
my car?" 

"You're nuts!" I says, "this is my 
car — the one you tried to ram. Nobody 
invited you here and if you don't like 
it, why you can just scram out ! " 

Red, he's pretty well awake by this 
time. So he sits up in the seat and 
starts to look around. At first, he 
didn't quite see what he was seeing. 
Then he took kind of a double-take 
when he saw them there horses pulling 
the little wagons all around us. 

"How'd we get into this circus?" he 
hollered. 

"What circus?" I asks. 

"This is a circus, isn't it?" he says 
again. "The last time I saw horse- 
drawn chariots was at a circus." Then 
he took another look around at the 
people dressed in them funny outfits m 
the stands. "Hey! What's going on 
here?" he yells. "I don't get it! Where 
have you driven me to? What kind 
of people are they? This a masquer- 
ade, or something?" 

By this time, we saw that they were 
all excited around us. The fellows 
driving the little wagons were giving 
us a lot of space so's we could pass 
them up in my racer. And, pretty 
soon we heard the audience give out 
with a loud holler, like they do when 
the winner crosses the line. A guy in 
one of them long dresses comes out 
and flag-arms us to a stop. I takes my 
foot off the accelerator, steps on the 
brake-pedal and brings the bus to a 
squealing stop right in front of the guy. 

Then he starts to jabber at us in a 
funny lingo that don't sound like good 
old American to me a-tall. Pretty soon 
a mes6 of other folks, all dressed like 
this first guy, came crowding around 


the car jabbering like mad and throw- 
ing their arms around Red and me and 
pulling at our coveralls. Then they 
lifts us both out of the car and carries 
us on their shoulders across the field 
to where a lot of highclass muckymucks 
are sitting around waiting for us. 

Red hollers over to me from where 
he was bobbing up and down on shoul- 
ders, "Can you tell me where we are?" 

"You can search me!" I hollers back 
at him. 

So, as long as they were happy about 
us and weren't making any passes at 
us, I figures the best thing we can do is 
to let tilings ride and see what happens. 
And I hollered back as much to Red. 

HPHEY carry us up some stairs and 
into one of the big grandstand 
boxes. You could see there were qual- 
ity folks there on account of they were 
all dressed in silk and gold and they 
stank to high heaven of perfume. There 
was one guy sitting on a gold chair 
that was higher than all the other chairs 
so's he was sitting way up above the 
rest. A lot of gorgeous babes was lay- 
ing around him on sofas. And a cou- 
ple or three colored boys were waving 
big fans behind him. 

I couldn't savvy none of the lingo 
that was being thrown around me but, 
from what they were hollering, I guess 
this big shot's name was Octavian or 
something. He didn't look like no 
big shot. He was kind of short and 
there were brown liver-spots all over 
his face. His teeth were all crooked 
and rotten. He must've suffered from 
colds on account of he sneezed a lot, 
and whenever he did he booted one of 
the colored boys in the fanny for wav- 
ing his fan too much. I found out why. 
I smelled so much perfume when I ftk. 
a sniff of him. He had a straw hat on 
to keep off the sun and there was a 
wreath of leaves around his brown 


1,30 


AMAZING STORIES 


hair. His eyes, though, were big and 
shiny and you could see he was one of 
those cold, tough mugs. 

Anyhow, he says something and we 
were let down from the shoulders of 
the guys that was carrying us. Some- 
one pushed Red and me down on our 
knees in front of this guy Octavian 
and forced us to bow our heads. Then 
he bends over and lays one of them 
there green wreathes of leaves on my 
head and another on Red's head. And. 
at that, the whole grandstand give a 
cheer that like to bust my eardrums. 

"What's it all about?" Red whispers 
to me. 

"I guess it's for winning the race," 
I says. 

"That all we get?" 

"We're lucky we ain't getting more," 
I says. I don't like the looks of things. 
They just don't look kind-faced to me. 

Someone give us another shove which 
meant we was to get up to our feet 
again. For a while, we stand there 
struck dumb. We don't say from noth- 
ing. On account of there ain't nothing 
I can say which these boys would un- 
derstand. But after we was given a 
couple of jabs in the back, I just 
couldn't take it no longer and I hollers 
out: 

"What in gehenna is this here place?" 

That's all I said, honest. But, from 
the way we was rough-housed after 
that, you'd have thought I called that 
there Octavian every dirty name I could 
think of. On account of they all began 
to holler and this here Octavian he gives 
out with some kind of orders and before 
we knew what was happening to us, 
they'd thrown a mess of iron chains 
around our wrists and ankles and we 
was dragged out of the box and into 
the street. 

"VX/'E wound up in some kind of 
hoosegow. They took the chains 


off us and shoved some bread and water 
into the cell. Then they left us alone. 
I says, "Look, Red! Is what's happen- 
ing to me happening to you also?" 

"I think so," he says kind of stupid 
like. 

"What I want to know," I says, "is 
what's happened to us, where are we 
and where do we go from here?" 

"I ain't no Quiz Kid," Red answers. 

"O.K." I says, "let's you and me sit 
down on the floor and try and figure 
this here thing out." I squats down and 
starts in to exercise my think-tank. Red 
he does the same thing, and in a couple 
of minutes we're both hitting our brains 
on all six. 

"Look," I says, "we was both driv- 
ing our cars at the Indianapolis Speed- 
way, wasn't we?" 

Red nodded his head. "Yeh," he 
says, "so what?" 

"So this. You try to sideswipe me. 
I don't give way. I go for you. You 
go for me. We hit. All of a sudden 
we're choking with smoke. We both go 
out like lights. And when we come to, 
we're here." 

"Where's here?" 

"All I know," I says, "is here ain't in 
the United States. But how did we 
get here?" 

"The smoke must've had something 
to do with it," Red says. 

"How? It was only ordinary ex- 
haust smoke and . . ." Then, before I 
could finish what I was going to say. 
an idea hits me like a ton of bricks. 
And, the minute it did, I hollered out, 
"Futsy!" 

"Futsy what?" 

"Futsy Dugan," I says. 

"What's Futsy Dugan got to do with 
our being here?" 

"Futsy invented that there new oil 
I had in my racer's tank. He was up 
to the ears in all kinds of chemicals, 
like he says. And he comes up with 


JOURNEY IN TIME TO CLEOPATRA 


this here new mixture which he says it 
would drive my Diesel power-plant with 
a super-duper mixture. So I had him 
put the stuff in my tank for the race." 

"How could the exhaust from an oil 
mixture get us here?" 

We didn't get no reason explaining 
how, from what happened next. But it 
certainly proved that it was the new 
oil mixture. On account of right in 
front of our eyes we sees some funny 
things happening. First we hears a 
clank, like as if a pair of pliers had 
fallen on the stone floor. We looks down 
to where the clank come from. And 
there was nothing there. But, all of 
a sudden, like as if it was coming out 
of the air, we seen a pair of steel pli- 
ers come to life. I picks them up and, 
sure enough, I sees that they're my 
pliers — the exact same ones I thought 
someone had lifted from my garage. 

Then the same thing happens again 
and again. And, in no time, there was 
a heap of tools on the floor and there 
were all my tools that I thought had 
been swiped. 

"Sure!" I hollers, "it was Futsy Du- 
gan's new oil mixture that done it! 
All these here tools disappeared just 
when Futsy was working on his new 
oil. The fumes from the oil must've 
made them disappear like it made us 
disappear and now they're coming back 
to life just like we come back to life!" 

"I just don't get it!" Red says. 
"What has Futsy's new oil mixture got 
to do with making us and these tools 
to disappear?" 

"I don't get it neither," I says, "but 
we ain't in the good old U.S.A. And 
these here tools ain't in the good old 
U.S.A. It must've been Futsy's oil mix- 
ture that done it!" 

"Done what?" Red says. 

"I dunno!" I says. 

And, with that, we shut up and 
waited for something to happen. 


131 

^OUPLE or three days later, a guy 
came into our cell and started in 
flinging a lot of foreign lingo at us. 
'Course we don't savvy and we tell him 
as much. 

"No spikky English?" I asks him. 

He says something which, as far as 
we were concerned, didn't mean noth- 
ing a-tall. 

So, comes another day and another 
guy comes in and he shoots us a line of 
"spik" stuff we don't savvy. Alto- 
gether, about a dozen guys come in, 
each with a different lingo and they like 
to drive us nuts. I see that we're get- 
ting nowhere fast so I takes the last guy 
aside and I says, "Look! as long as you 
guys don't talk our language, how about 
you teaching us a thing or two about 
your language?" 

He don't get me a-tall. So I picks 
up a piece of bread and I points at it. 
All of a sudden, a light comes in the 
guy's mug and he says something in his 
lingo which meant bread. I says it 
after him and Red, he says it after me 
so's, in no time, we was able to say a lot 
of words in this guy's language. 

"Heck ! " says Red, after we 
learned what "bread," and "water" and 
"clothes" and all was, "let's us learn 
some words we can really make use of." 

"Like what?" says I. 

"Like 'dame,' for instance," says 
Red. "As long as we're going to stay 
here for a while, let's us learn how to 
say 'you're some cutie!' or 'how's about 
you an' me steppin' out t'night, 
honey?' " 

He had something there all right. 

Weeks later we knew a lot of words 
and also it was about that time we found 
out where we was. It seems like, in 
some crazy way, we was back in the 
time of the Caesars in Italy. The way 
Red figures it out, we was back to the 
year 31 B. C. which it was about 1973 
years back. How we got back that far 


: 


132 


AMAZING STORIES 


is beyond me. That there oil of Futsy's 
must have had something to do with it. 
Whatever it was, there was me and Red 
Ingram thrown back in history with my 
Diesel special and some tools. 

It seems that this here Octavian guy 
was the dictator of Rome. And him 
and a guy named Marc Antony was 
feuding it on account of Antony, who 
was in Alexandria, Egypt, with a gal 
named Cleopatra. And he was handing 
out all kinds of kingdoms and countries 
which belonged to Rome to this here 
Cleopatra who was the Queen of Egypt. 
So the Roman Senate declared war on 
Antony and they was fixing up a big 
army to go over to Egypt and learn 
Antony and Cleopatra a lesson. 

QNE day, when Red and me was 
laying around in our cell wonder- 
ing what was going to happen to us, a 
guy comes in with a lot of Roman togas, 
which is what they call the night-gowns 
they use for clothes. 

"I ain't gonna put one of them thiijgs 
on!" Red says. "Not for a million 
Octavians!" 

"Yeh!" I says. "Just think of what 
would happen if a good wind come up 
and blowed them things over our 
heads!" 

So we don't put them things on and 
we follows the guy in our dirty, greasy 
coveralls. We gets into one of them 
there chariots we raced against when we 
first come to Rome and, pretty soon, 
we're high-balling it down the street 
behind four black horses. Me, I'd 
ruther be driving behind the wheel of 
my good old Diesel. But we got to 
Octavian's palace anyhow. 

We was took up a long flight of 
marble stairs, through a lot of marble 
corridors, which they looked like the 
basement rooms in railroad stations 
back home. There was soldiers all 
around with shiny helmets and swords 


and spears and you could see that these 
here dictators was all the same ; always 
being afraid they was going to be 
bumped off. 

Pretty soon, we was standing in front 
of this guy Octavian. He was sitting 
at a big table with a lot of papers and 
maps spread around. And there was a 
mob of guys — generals, I guess — hang- 
ing all around him yes-manning him to 
high heaven. We see it's the same guy 
that was in the box at the races. From 
the looks of him, there was no mon- 
key-shining him. Either you gave him 
what he wanted or he took it away from 
you. 

"Where do you come from?" he asks 
us. 

"The good old United States!" says 

I. 

Octavian thinks hard. "United 
States?" he asks, "and where might 
that be? We Romans rule the entire 
world. But, at no time, have I heard 
of the United States." He turned to 
one of the men around him, a guy with 
a long, white beard, and he says, "Mar- 
cellus, you are a geographer. Where 
are these United States this man talks 
about?" 

Well, sir, there was a mob of them 
white-bearded guys there and, pretty 
soon they gets into a squabble about 
where they think the United States is. 
Until pretty soon Octavian he shushes 
them up and says to us, "What matters 
it where you come from. Now you are 
my prisoners. But I understand you 
arrived in some sort of infernal ma- 
chine that runs without horses. Are 
you magicians that you can drive your 
chariot without horses?' " 

Red and me try to explain to him 
how my Diesel runs on oil. But we 
don't make much headway. "Look," 
I says, "suppose you take a ride with 
me in my Diesel? Thafd show you 
what happens. How about it, huh?" 


JOURNEY IN TIME TO CLEOPATRA 


133 


The other guys set up a holler about 
that. One guy hollers that it was a fake 
and we was enemies come to kidnap 
Octavian. But this here Octavian, he's 
a tough mug. He says, "Very well. I 
shall take a ride in this fire-chariot with 
you. But I sail have my knife pointed 
at your heart in the event anything 
happens." 

^0, TO make a long story short, we 
was all taken out to the chariot race- 
track where my Diesel was still stand- 
ing where we'd left it after we'd won 
the chariot race. I steps into the seat 
and shoves my foot on the accelerator. 
The motor started up with a roar that 
nearly scared the togas off the bunch of 
generals and politicians that had come 
out with us to see the fireworks. Then 
Red piles in with me and Octavian was 
helped in between us. Sure enough, 
he's got a wicked-looking dagger in his 
mitt and he sticks it into my side like as 
if to remind me that I was not going 
to pull any fast ones on him. 

I lets out the clutch and we was off 
around the track going ninety miles an 
hour with Octavian's toga flying in the 
wind. He had on his sun-hat which he 
always wore, I learned, on account of 
he was always getting colds and sneez- 
ing. But he don't have that on for 
long and it goes flying off. Well, we 
goes around that there track like that 
for about five minutes. And all the 
time I see this Octavian he's getting 
a swell kick out of it. But, pretty soon 
he tells me to stop. I stop smack in 
front of where the generals was stand- 
ing and Octavian gets out, a mite shaky 
in the joints. 

"Amazing ! " he hollers out, "we must 
use this fire-chariot in our coming cam- 
paign against Antony. With a chariot 
such as this, we can drive through the 
enemy phalanxes as though they were 
made of butter! " Then he turns to us. 


"I hereby commission you as officers in 
the service of Rome. Are you willing to 
swear allegiance to us and aid us in our 
fight against Antony?" 

Red and me we goes into a huddle. 
"Heck," says Red, "what can we lose 
if we join up with this mob? They got 
us coming and going. If we say no, 
they'll slap us in the hoosegow again 
and maybe bump us off. If we say 
yes, we'll have a swell chance to use 
that lingo we've been learning on some 
of the babes." 

While we was driving through the 
streets, we'd both seen a lot of skirts 
there which they wasn't bad to look at. 
So, I says, "It's O.K. with me!" 

J^IGHT after we enlisted, we went 
into training. First thing was a 
feast which Octavian threw in our hon- 
or. I tell you I ain't never seen such 
goings on before in my whole life — 
and I seen plenty goings on, if you ask 
me. There was a long table full of food 
and wines. And a long line of slaves 
come in all the time carrying whole 
suckling pigs, and humming-bird's 
tongues, and fish and chicken and more 
fruit and more wine. And there was a 
place outside the banquet hall which 
you went to with a feather if you was 
filled up and you wanted to make room 
for more eats and drinks. But, best of 
all. there was a mob of gals laying 
around on silk couches with nothing 
on but a smile. 

When Red catches sight of the dames, 
he lets out a whoop and a holler. Me, 
I go for the eats first on account of all 
we been eating for the past few weeks 
was bread and water. But I look over 
to where Red was working his claim 
and I tell you, I don't know how he did 
it, but there he was gabbing with three 
of them squatting around him, like as 
if he was a Roman matinee idol. 

Me, I got my eye on a little black- 


134 


AMAZING STORIES 


haired, black- eyed little piece of loving, 
that's at his right. And she saw me 
giving her the once-over and she shoots 
me a glad-eye that was as nice a des- 
sert as I could have wanted. 

Pretty soon, she's over to where I 
am and we're as chummy as a couple 
of sewing sisters. She tells me her name 
is Cytheris and I tell her my name is 
Hank. I pulls a boner and asks her 
for her phone-number. 

"Phone-number?" she asks, "what is 
this phone-number?" 

I laugh when I remember they don't 
have such things like telephones in 
Rome in 32 B.C. But, outside of that 
slip, we got along fine until we're inter- 
rupted by Red. 

"What's the big idea snatching my 
skirt?" he yells at me. 

"Go do your washing!" I snaps back. 

"Oh yeah!" he says, which it don't 
mean nothing. 

"Yeah!" I says, which it means the 
same. 

So Red, he goes back to where he 
left the other two dames. Pretty soon 
I feel like as if I got to go out and 
see a man about a dog. And I do. But 
when I come back, I see this here Cy- 
theria necking like mad with Red. I 
was just about ready to jump in and 
beat up on that red-headed double- 
crosser, when, what goes staggering 
across the floor to him but a great big 
Roman general named Lucius. You 
could see he had been soaking up a 
little too much wine. Anyhow, he goes 
over to where Red is playing tick-tack- 
toe with this skirt and he sticks his 
mug into Red's and hollers, "You have 
stolen my wife from me, sir!" And 
without waiting for an explanation, he 
hangs a haymaker smack on Red's jaw. 

^^OW, Red, he ain't no slouch when 
it comes to handling himself in a 
brawl. But this here Lucius had been 


one of them arena gladiators. He had 
fought with knucks in hundreds of 
fights and had come through them alive. 
So Red was up against some pretty 
tough opposition. But Red jumps up 
with his nose slightly bloody and starts 
in mauling it with Lucius. 

I see they're having a swell time. 
Then I see one of Lucius' men stick 
his leg out and trip up Red so's he goes 
down to the floor on his ear. That don't 
set so well with me on account of we 
Americans have got to stick together 
even if we hate each other's guts like 
Red and me. So I jumps up and 
clouts the guy that trips up Red one 
on the schnozzle. That brings up some 
of the wine he'd drunk and it pours 
out of his nose. So, pretty soon Red 
and me is both back to back clouting 
it out with Lucius and six of his aide 
de camps. 

"I'm enjoying myself for the first 
time!" Red hollers at me. 

"Me, too!" I hollers just as I land 
a lulu on Lucius' cauliflower ear. I 
took it all back when I got a nasty 
smack on the kisser right afterwards. 
But I made up for it by swinging a 
short right on another guy's button 
that sent him out for the count. 

So, pretty soon the other guys began 
to itch for some action, some taking our 
side and some taking Lucius' side. And, 
in no time, with the girls squealing in 
the back like stuck pigs, we were all 
going at it strong in one of the best 
slam-bang, knock-'em-down battle-roy- 
als it's ever been my pleasure to be in. 

But that don't last long. On account 
of, pretty soon, the Roman cops come 
barging in and Red and me were thrown 
out on our ears in the street. 

I looks at Red. Both his eyes were 
blacked, blood was pouring out of his 
nose and his clothes were just torn to 
shreds. "See what you get for trying 
to snatch my girl!" I says to him. 


JOURNEY IN TIME TO CLEOPATRA 


135 


He looks at me and laughs. "You 
didn't get away with murder neither, 
you wolf!" he says and spits out a 
tooth. 

So we gets up out of the curb, throws 
our arms around each other and goes 
down the street singing. 

"Mademoiselle from Armentiers, 
parley-voo." 

That's how we spent the next few 
weeks training as the first tank-men in 
the world for Octavian's Roman 
Legions — if you know what I mean. 

jyjEANWHILE, things were happen- 
ing between Octavian and Marc 
Antony. It seems like Antony had got 
together an army of about 100,000 foot 
soldiers and 12,000 horse soldiers and 
300 ships. And all Octavian could 
round up was 250 ships, 80,000 foot 
soldiers, 12,000 horse soldiers and a 
tank battalion of one Diesel-powered 
racing special automobile. Antony and 
Cleopatra had their army scattered all 
around the Mediterranean Sea with a 
big camp in Patrae in Greece. Octavian 
had his men at Brindisi in Italy with 
200 miles of Ionian Sea water separat- 
ing the two armies. 

Red and me was shipped down to 
Brindisi from Rome together with the 
other soldiers and we were acting as 
chauffeurs for Octavian. That's how 
come we knew so much about what was 
going on. That's how come we found 
■out about the letter Octavian wrote to 
Antony telling him he'd let Antony land 
his men in Italy without trying to stop 
him, so's they could fight it out in a de- 
ciding battle. Antony, he don't take to 
the idea and he sends back another let- 
ter daring Octavian to come over to 
Greece and decide the thing in a man- 
to-man fight, even though he was get- 
ting old. Of course, Octavian don't 
take him up on account of, from what 
I hear, this Marc Antony guy ain't no 


slouch at duels. Then Antony writes 
back and dares Octavian to bring his 
army over to Greece where they could 
fight it out on the plains of Pharsalia. 
But Octavian ain't biting at the same 
bait he held out for Antony. So the 
winter of 32 B.C. drags along that way 
with nothing happening except with Oc- 
tavian standing in Italy and glaring 
across the Ionian Sea at Greece and 
Marc Antony standing in Patrae glar- 
ing across the Ionion Sea at Italy. 
Course, Antony has got it easier on ac- 
count of he's got Cleopatra with him 
and, from what I hear, she'd make even 
a stretch at the North Pole feel like 
a vacation in Perdition — if you get 
what I mean. 

"Heck!" says Red one time to Octa- 
vian when we're driving him around, 
"why don't you land us some night in 
Greece with our Diesel-racer and a 
couple-three men and we'll smack the 
pants off Antony's whole army!" 

But Octavian don't take to that idea. 
The way I figure it out, he's in the war 
for the glory and whatever glory there'd 
be wouldn't be his if we did the knock- 
ing out. Besides, he's got a whole army 
hanging around itching to get into a 
brawl and they were all tough babies 
and they were getting in his hair, al- 
ready asking when they were going to 
get into some action. Then, I don't 
think he trusts Red and me much. It's 
on account of that Lucius which Red 
bopped on account of he objected to 
Red's making passes at his wife. It 
seems like Lucius is telling Octavian a 
lot of guff about Red and me and I 
guess Octavian wasn't taking no 
chances letting us get out of his sight. 

■y^/TiLL, the winter dragged on that- 
aways with nothing much happen- 
ing. Finally, Octavian gets word that 
Antony's winter supplies was running 
out and that a lot of his men had died 


136 


AMAZING STORIES 


of disease. So, thinks Octavian, now's 
a good chance to do some attacking. 
So, he orders us on board a ship with 
a lot of other soldiers and we takes off 
for Methone in the south of Greece 
under the command of Marcus Vipsa- 
nius Agrippa. 

When Red and me come roaring 
down the gangplank from our ship, we 
like to scare the pants off of the Egyp- 
tian and Greek soldiers that was there. 
They must've thought the gods was 
sending fire-wagons or something. Any- 
how, we run a mess of them down and, 
in no time, Methone was ours and 
Octavian had captured a beach-head in 
Greece where he could land his army. 

But a funny thing happened during 
the fighting for that beach-head. You 
see, this here Lucius was one of the gen- 
erals that come with us. And he was 
on a horse and we was in our Diesel. 
And smack in the thick of the fighting, 
who should come bearing down on us 
waving his sword but this here guy 
Lucius. Red and me is busy running 
guys down and swinging our swords at 
other soldiers so we don't get to see 
Lucius until he's kind of close up. First 
thing we know, a long spear conies 
whizzing between Red and me and lands 
on the dashboard of the car. I look 
around and who do I see grinning 
at us but this Lucius guy. We knew 
he had it in for us bad on account of 
the brawl and also on account of we 
was seeing more of Octavian than he 
was. So I hollers to Red, "That Lucius 
is on the war-path for us!" 

Red turns and sees Lucius bearing 
down on us with his sword waving. I 
guess his idea was to give it to us be- 
hind our backs' and then claim that we 
were killed in the battle. But that don't 
go so good with us. Thinks I, this ain't 
no time for us to be killed on account of 
may be soon we'll be wanting 
to get back to the good old U.S.A. 


And how could we get back alive if we 
were knocked off in Greece in 32 B.C.? 

So, quick as a flash, I swings the 
Diesel around. Now we were face to 
face with Lucius and he's still coming 
at us on his horse swinging his sword. 

"Do we give it to this guy, Red? 
I holler. 

"Let her go, Gallagher!" he hollers 
back. 

So, closing my eyes, I steps hard on 
the accelerator and the old Diesel gives 
a roar and shoots out from where we 
was eighty miles an hour. I tell you 
when we smacked into Lucius and his 
horse, I thought the end was beginning 
sure enough. There was pieces of horse 
and man flying all around us. But we 
come through it all right with only a 
bent fender and a dented radiator which 
it started to leak but which we plugged 
up afterwards. 

Anyhow, stead of stopping after we 
got rid of that Roman menace, Red and 
me kept on going with our racer. No 
telling what would happen to us if some 
of the other guys had seen us run down 
and massacre the famous general, 
Lucius. Like as not we'd get our heads 
chopped off or something. So, Red says 
to me as we're driving along the road 
going out of Methone: 

"What's this I hear about Egyptian 
dames?" 

"If they're anything like Cleopatra," 
I says, "me for 'em!" 

So we keeps on driving scaring all the 
people on the road. I says, "It don't 
make no difference who we fight with as 
long as we get some fun out of doing 
it." 

VX/ELL, pretty soon we run out of oil 
and the Diesel comes snorting to a 
stop just outside Marc Antony's camp 
at Patrae. In no time, there was a mob 
of Egyptian and Greek soldiers around 
us. First they kind of hung away 


JOURNEY IN TIME 

thinking we was gods or something on 
account of we come rolling in without 
there being no horses pulling us. But, 
pretty soon, they seen we was only men 
like them and they come up to us. 
"Where's Marc Antony?" I hollers 
i out to them in my best grammar, 
which it ain't so hot. 

I guess they savvy a little of it on 
account of they drags us out of the car 
and starts in pulling us to the center 
of the camp rough-housing us a little. 
But, pretty soon, we come up to a big 
striped silk tent. There was a mess of 
guards hanging around and one of the 
big-shots came up to us and asks what 
we want. 

"We wanna talk with Marc Antony! " 
we says. 

So they takes us into the tent. And, 
sure enough, we recognize this guy 
Antony sitting at a table surrounded by 
generals and maps and stuff. We knew 
it was him on account of we'd heard so 
much about him from the Romans. And 
he was all they'd said he was. I ain't 
never seen such a mountain of a man 
before. He had heavy, brown hair curl- 
ing around his head. And his eyes were 
honest eyes, clean clear through and not 
like the sneaky eyes of that runt Octa- 
vian. And his muscles! I ain't never 
seen such a display of muscle outside 
a circus. And he had a thick neck and 
a strong jaw, the kind that told you that 
when he wanted something, he got it. 
Now, he was getting kind of flabby, you 
could see and there was a little pot belly 
around his middle. But he still had 
some pretty slim flanks, like an athlete 
and his legs was like a runner's. All I 
could say was that this gal Cleopatra 
! was a good picker. 

Anyhow, Antony, he sizes Red up 
and down like as if to say, "Why has 
this scum been brought to me?" The 
soldiers, they explain to him what had 
happened and when they told him about 


TO CLEOPATRA 137 

our horseless chariot, why he liked to 
split a gut the way he jumped up from 
his chair. 

"What foul lies are you telling me!" 
he hollers out. And then he says to us, 
"If you speak Tuscan, I wish you'd tell 
me what these apes are talking about! 
What about this horseless chariot 
they've been dreaming up?" 

"Now, there's a guy that talks our 
language!" Red says to me. "That's 
the kind of man I don't mind fighting 
for and with ! " 

And I explain to Antony all about 
my Diesel racer. Then I says, "You 
see, we come across with Octavius' men 
and . . ." 

"What?" he jumps up and hollers. 

"With Octavius' men," I continues, 
"and they just took your city of 
Methone which they're going to use 
for a bridge-head!" 

Well, that's the first news he'd got- 
ten of that affair on account of we'd 
been the first to come this way with our 
speedy racer. And, boy, was he mad! 
He starts in to order his generals 
around swearing at them like a sailor, 
asking why they hadn't let him know 
about things. Then he turns to us and 
hollers, "Can you take me to Methone 
in your horseless chariot?" 

Right off, his generals objected, like 
the generals of Octavian, saying maybe 
it was all a plot and we'd come to kid- 
nap him. But this Antony guy, he ain't 
afraid of nobody, plot or no plot. 

"What about it, men?" he asks. 

"Well," I says, "we run out of oil, but 
my Diesel will use any kind of oil — 
olive, banana or what have you." 

"Good!" he says, "prepare to leave 
for Methone immediately. Sound the 
order for marching!" he yells at his 
generals, "we're off to do battle with 
Octavian at Methone!" 

But we don't get going to Methone 
on account of, just then, a messenger 


138 


AMAZING STORIES 


comes running in and he throws him- 
self at Antony's feet. And he pants out, 
"The enemy has arrived at Corcyra, 
Lord! at the Gulf of Ambracia!" 

YV/'ELL, that was news. The affair at 
Methone, it seems was just a feint 
by Octavian. His real purpose was to 
get his men to the north instead of to 
the south. So Antony gets the generals 
to sound the order anyhow. And, pretty 
soon, we fill up the Diesel with olive- 
oil which is around these parts like 
water. And Anthony climbs into the 
seat next to me and Red. When the 
army is ready, we shoot out in front and 
get going north to Corcyra. 

We left all the horse chariots and 
footmen way behind. On the way, 
Antony tells us all about how he's got 
his fleet in the Gulf of Ambracia and 
how, if he don't get there on time, why 
Octavian will come up with his fleet and 
knock Antony's ships to hell-and-gone. 

"I'll get you to your fleet quicker'n 
you can shake a stick at a cat!" I says. 
And, with that, I shoves my foot down 
hard on the accelerator and the old bus 
shoots out like as if she'd been on an 
olive-oil diet all her life. All the way 
down, Antony asks us questions about 
how the Diesel runs and all. And I can 
see he's got the same ideas about using 
it for a kind of tank like Octavian had. 

"Cleopatra'll love this chariot!" he 
says. "I think I'll give it to her for a 
present!" Course, it don't matter with 
him if the diesel belongs to me. That's 
the kind of a guy he is. I heard later 
how, once, he gave his cook a big house 
in Magnesia, on account of the cook 
rustled up a swell supper. Only trouble 
was the house belonged to someone else. 
But that was Marc Antony all over- 

Red, he's busy with Antony getting 
him to spin the beans about the dame 
situation in Egypt and Greece. And 
what this Antony guy don't know about 


dames just ain't worth knowing — if 
you get what I mean. He was a walk- 
ing telephone-book. He had them listed 
in his head — all sizes and shapes and all 
color and so -forth. "Wow ! " hollers Red, 
"I see where you and me is going to do 
some tall soldiering around these here 
parts! Come on, guy!" he urges, "get 
this old buggy of yours going so's we 
can get this thing over with and we can 
reap the rewards of our heroism!" 

'^pO MAKE a long story short again, 
we got to the Gulf of Ambracia in 
no time. Antony gets aboard his fleet 
of ships and got them ready for battle. 
Meantime, his army comes up and he 
fills the ships with a mess of soldiers. 
And when Octavian sent his spies out to 
find out about the lay of the land — or 
the water — they sees what's up and 
they go back and report as how Antony 
is all prepared for them and they'd bet- 
ter not try any funny business with the 
fleet. I guess if Octavian had known 
how Antony had got up to the Gulf on 
time, he'd of had a fit. 

So, there was the two armies again, 
glaring at each other across the water. 
This time, though they was both on the 
same land. The water was the Gulf of 
Ambracia with Octavian's armies at the 
north end and Antony's armies at the 
south end. Both of them was waiting 
for something to happen. 

Something did happen to us, as far 
as we were concerned. Cleopatra came 
visiting Antony's camp. And if that 
ain't something that can happen to a 
guy, then I just don't know what I'm 
talking about. For, as we were waiting 
around hoping for something to hap- 
pen, Antony gets an idea he'd like to 
go out on a good drunk. That, of course, 
fits in with me and Red's ideas. So he 
orders up a binge the like of which I 
ain't never seen or heard of in all my 
born days. Wowie! There was enough 


JOURNEY IN TIME TO CLEOPATRA 


liquor guzzled down that evening to 
sink a fleet of Qctavian's ships. And the 
food! And the women! 

But if we thought the women at that 
party was the nuts, we had another 
think coming. For, right in the middle 
of that blow-out, in steps a dame that 
almost knocked your eye out for beauty. 
We was laying around on a couch slop- 
ping up the wine and stuff. Antony was 
taking care of himself, too. Then, all of 
a sudden, he sees this dame coming in 
the tent. 

"Cleopatra! " he hollers out and when 
he jumps up to run to her three swell 
dancing dames fall off to the floor from 
his knees. 

I got one and Red got the other two. 

But we was all eyes for Cleo. She 
was one of them little women, you 
know, the kind that makes a nice little 
armful. Her face was as white as snow 
and as smooth as a baby's you know 
what. And her hair was dark and her 
eyes was big and black and her nose 
was just big enough to fit into the rest 
of her face. 

But it was her voice that made you 
look at her and wonder how long she'd 
been going on. It was soft and low 
and when she talked to you it was like 
as if she was stroking your cheek with 
one hand and running her fingers 
through your hair with the other. Man! 
When Antony goes up to her and kisses 
her and hugs her and then tells her 
about us, and she comes up to us and 
talks — I tell you, I was ready to lay 
down, kick my legs and holler, "Lordy! 
You can take me ! I've seen everything 
there is to see ! " 

"What is this Antony has been tell- 
ing me about your horseless chariot?" 
she asks me. 

A LL I can do for a while is stutter, 
she's got me that buffaloed. Then 
I tells her all about how we come here 


139 

and all about our Diesel. And she acts 
like a little kid with a toy and she's all 
for going out then and there for a ride 
in the Diesel. And Antony, he don't 
act like a tough soldier no more, when 
she's around. He becomes just as much 
a kid as she is and he's all for taking 
a ride out in the road with her. So, right 
then and there, Antony and me and 
Cleo, we ducks the party and, pretty 
soon we're high-balling it down the 
road with Cleo's hair flying in the wind. 
We was going close on to 75 miles an 
hour, just easing along for a racer like 
my Diesel. But Cleo, she's got speed 
in her blood and she yells out, "Faster! 
Faster!" 

So I steps on the accelerator and 
gets her up to 95. But even that ain't 
fast enough for Cleo and she keeps on 
hollering "Faster! Faster!" 

Well, I got her up to about 125 and 
that was as fast as my Diesel could go 
on olive-oil, which I'm telling you ain't 
no banana-oil. And she loves it! She 
just laps it up. I tell you, I could of 
gone for that woman like a ton of 
bricks. But when you came up against 
a guy like this here Marc Antony, you 
just don't think things like that. You 
just forget all about it and look around 
for the next best. 

Anyhow, we drove back to the camp 
and Antony tells her all about how we 
drove him to the gulf in time to warn 
the fleet and save them from Octavian. 
And, for that, Cleo bends over, righi 
there in front of Antony and Red and 
all, and she plants a kiss smack on my 
lips! 

I guess I must of passed out right 
then and there. On account of I don't 
remember what happened after that. 
AH I know is that I thought I was float- 
ing on clouds and there was happy mu- 
sic playing and . . . shucks! All I 
can say is I felt like as if I was in 
heaven and let it go at that. 


140 


AMAZING STORIES 


"Y^/'ELL, there we was now, working 
for Antony and Cleopatra. Course, 
we didn't have much to do on account 
of there wasn't any fighting going on. 
It seems like Octavian's fleet had An- 
tony's fleet bottled up in the harbor 
and we had Octavian's land army sur- 
rounded on land. So neither of them 
could do anything but wait. 

But Octavian was pretty hep to han- 
dling things like that. First off, he sends 
out a small army to cut off our water 
supply. But we gets wind of that and 
we drive out with Antony. And all Oc- 
tavian's men had was horses. So Red 
and me and Antony, we sends the old 
Diesel smack through the middle of 
them men on horses and scattered 'em 
like as if they was chickens on the road. 
Another time, when Anthony was away 
with Cleopatra and me on a joy ride, 
one of the Roman generals, a guy 
named Titius, he surprised a bunch of 
our cavalry and defeated them. Then, 
some time later, Octavian's admiral, 
Agrippa, he snuck up in the dark and 
captured a few of our ships which they 
were cruising around for want of any- 
thing else to do. 

It was things like this that sort of 
got under Antony's skin. Besides, 
Cleo was sort of acting up fighting it 
out with Antony and his generals. I 
guess she must have seen that the big 
boy was on the down-grade or some- 
thing. Anyhow, she wasn't as warm 
to him as she had been before. And, 
sometimes, I could hear them in their 
tent fighting through the night. It 
seems that she was in favor of trying 
to break Octavian's blockade with 
their fleet while Antony and his gen- 
erals was in favor of fighting Octavian 
first by land. 

"Why," I heard her say, "if we can 
defeat Octavian's ships and break the 
blockade, nothing can stop us from go- 
ing straight across to Italy and captur- 


ing Rome, itself! It's worth trying!" 

But Antony's generals they don't 
think so. And they tell Antony he'll 
lose the whole shebang if he tries to 
buck up against Octavian's fleet first. 

"What's a woman doing around a 
soldiers' camp anyhow?" the generals 
hollered. "Send her back to Alexan- 
dria where she belongs so's we can 
take care of this man's business in a 
man's way!" 

Finally, they convinced Antony he 
should tell her off and send her back to 
her knitting. But they don't know 
much about this Cleo if they think she 
is so easily taken care of. I was hang- 
ing around their tent after I had driv- 
en Antony there. I guess he must've 
told her what the generals told him to 
tell her on account of, all of a sudden, 
I heard her give out with a yell that 
must've been heard by Octavian all 
the way across the gulf. 

"You're a weak-spined tunny-fish!" 
I heard her yell at him. "You may 
have been a warrior when I first met 
you, but now you're only a weakling 
under the thumb of your so-called gen- 
erals. Why, it was I who supplied all 
the money for your campaigns; I gave 
you the ships; I gave you the soldiers. 
And what do I receive in return? A 
shell of a man; a weakling! A dolt! 
A fool I A knave!" 

That went on for a long time. Fi- 
nally, she quieted down and, pretty 
soon, Antony came out of the tent like 
a whipped dog with its tail between 
its legs. He hopped into the racer next 
to me and says, "Take me to some 
liquor real fast!" 

I steps on her and, pretty soon he's 
drowning his sorrows in drink. Me, 
I ain't got no special sorrows, but I 
helps him drown his. Soon, Red 
come up and joined the party. And 
he had some pretty Egyptian girls with 
him and we all had a swell time. 


JOURNEY IN TIME TO CLEOPATRA 


141 


But we made plans to attack Oc- 
tavian's ships. Which it should give 
you some idea about the kind of dame 
this Cleopatra was. 

VX/ELL, that was the beginning of 
the end for Marc Antony. When 
he tells his generals about his decision, 
they was plenty mad. Bxit they were 
loyal to Antony and they were soldiers, 
so they stuck with him. All except one 
guy named Domitius Ahenobarbus 
who run off to Octavian's camp. But 
it didn't do him no good on account of, 
just when he got there, he kicked the 
bucket from fever. 

Then tilings began to happen. You 
see, Octavian's ships had bottled up 
Cleo's Egyptian fleet and Antony's 
ships in the bay while Antony's sol- 
diers had surrounded Octavian's men 
on land. Antony figures if he can at- 
tack on sea, he can break the block- 
ade and let Cleo and her ships out of 
the trap so's they can get back to Al- 
exandria, Egypt. Then he could set- 
tle Octavian's hash on land. The 
whole idea, as far as I could see it, 
was to get rid of Cleo who was getting 
to be a pain in the neck to everyone 
concerned, including Antony. 

So Antony puts a mess of soldiers on 
board his boats and he gets on his nag- 
ship while Cleo, she gets on hers. And 
Antony sets the date of the beginning 
of the battle for August 29. A storm 
come up so the battle had to be put off. 
But on September 2nd, everything 
looked hotsy-totsy for a war and An- 
tony, he says as how he thinks today's 
the day. He sends a half of this three 
hundred ships out front in one fleet, 
the second half in the second fleet and 
Cleo winds up in the back with her 
sixty Egyptian ships. The whole idea 
being that the first two fleets'U blow 
open a path for Cleo's ships so they 
could high-tail it back to Egypt. 


The last thing Cleo and Antony said 
to each other before they went to their 
flag-ships was insults. I was standing 
by with Red and my Diesel to drive 
Antony down the beach to his flagship. 

"You're a fool and a coward!" Cleo 
flings at Antony, "and you're going to 
desert me now as you did before!" 

"I love you!" Antony says. 

"Yah!" Cleo snorted, "I hope I 
never see you again!" And, with that, 
she runs off to her boat that's waiting 
to take her to her flagship. 

Antony, he looks at her kind of sad- 
like, as if he don't know what's going 
on. That's what love can do for a man 
which is why I ain't never got 
hitched. Anyhow, he heaves a deep 
sigh and hops on the Diesel. 

"Let's us get going to battle!" he 
hollers at me, "and the sooner the 
quicker! I'm tired of all this la-de-la 
business with females!" 

So we shoots off down the beach for 
his flagship and, pretty soon, we're on 
board, Diesel and all, and we're all set 
to do battle with Octavian's ships. 

Say, you should of seen the kinds of 
warships those fellows had to fight 
with. They was rowed by slaves in 
the hold with big oars, when there was 
no wind up to blow the sails. And 
there was big brass spikes and rams at 
the head of each ship which they was 
used to but into another ship to sink 
her, like a billy-goat butting another 
goat. And there was hundreds and 
hundreds of soldiers on each boat with 
spears and swords waiting for the boat 
to ram an enemy boat so's they could 
climb over and fight with the other 
soldiers. And, on the shore, Antony 
had a lot of what he called catapults 
which they heaved great big rocks and 
fire-balls onto Octavian's ships. 

■y^ELL, anyhow, the fight started 
with Antony sending his first 


]4L> 


AMAZING STORIES 


fleet of 150 ships out to do battle with 
Octavian's ships. They clashed head 
on and was there a hullabaloo. But, 
funny thing, although Antony's boats 
was bigger, Octavian's boats was win- 
ning on account of I guess they could 
maneuver around better. 

Our flagship then went into the fray, 
and pretty soon there was Octavian's 
little ships all around us. Once we 
rammed smack into one of them and 
the water was full of soldiers hollering 
and screaming. We heard the crunch 
of oars breaking. Spears came shoot- 
ing all around our ears and fire-balls 
landed on deck and we was all pretty 
well bushed putting out fires and dodg- 
ing spears and such. 

I'm standing near Antony and he's 
watching how his ships are being taken 
one by one. He's also wondering 
what'll happen to his land forces if 
they find out the fleet's been put on the 
blink. And he's also got an eye on 
Cleo's flagship wondering what she's 
going to do, if she's going to command 
her ships to fight or to run away to 
Egypt. 

Meanwhile, the battle's going pret- 
ty bad for Antony's ships and they're 
being sunk and boarded and captured. 
Then, all of a sudden, Antony looks 
out and sees that Cleo's ship has raised 
sail. 

"She's taking advantage of the 
wind!" he hollers. 

Sure enough, there was a big wind 
that had come up and there was Cleo's 
ship skidding in the breeze right 
through the hole in the blockade An- 
tony's ships had made. 

"Up with the sails!" Antony hollers. 

"You're not going to run away from 
this here battle," I hollers. 

"My wife's life is in danger!" he says. 
And, with that, he forgets all about the 
battle and stands at the head of the 
ship as the sailors raise the sails. And, 


pretty soon, we're high-tailing out of 
that tliere battle following Cleo's boat. 
I guess Antony's goose was cooked right 
then and there. If he'd stayed and 
fought, maybe there would have been 
a chance to win. But, no! he's got a 
woman on his mind and that don't go 
good with fighting. 

Pretty soon we're pretty well out of 
the battle zone. Our ship was bigger'n 
Cleo's on account of we had five banks 
of slaves rowing like mad with bigger 
sails for the wind to blow on. So we 
catch up with Cleo's ship and we boards 
her. 

Cleo's cold to Antony and he's cold to 
her. And all he done was to sit on the 
front of the ships with his head buried 
in his hands like as if he was crying. 
I guess he had plenty of reason to on 
account of he'd run away from a battle 
and left all his men in the lurch. 

I goes up to him once or twice with 
some wine and stuff. But he don't say 
boo. All he does is sit there with his 
head in his hands. While Cleo, she 
stays put in her cabin and she won't 
even send out to ask him to come in. 

That's how we come to land in Alex- 
andria, Egypt. 

That's how come the big battle of 
Actium was lost by Antony. 

All on account of a dame. 

■y^7"ELL, Antony he decides to stay 
at Paraetonium which it is about 
ISO miles from Alexandria. Cleo, she 
starts off for her capitol so's she can 
find out if anything's happened to her 
kingdom on account of they lost the 
battle of Actium. 

Antony, he mopes around for weeks. 
Red and me, we're having a good time, 
though. You see, Cleo's two waiting 
girls, they took sick from the voyage 
and they had to be left behind by Cleo 
in Paraetonium. Pretty soon, though, 
they're O.K. So's Red and me. So 


JOURNEY IN TIME TO CLEOPATRA 


143 


these two gals, Charmian and Iras, 
they're kind of taking a walk on the 
beach alone. And Red and me, we're 
taking a walk on the beach alone. And, 
pretty soon, we ain't alone. Get what 
I mean? 

And all the time Antony is moping 
around about how he's lost the love of 
of his life, Red and me we're kind of 
hitting the high-spots. Red, he takes a 
shine to this here Charmian, which she's 
a black-haired charmer with big black 
eyes and big red lips and . . . you know 
what I mean so I don't have to describe 
her no further. Iras, she 's only kind of 
so-so. Which it naturally means that 
Red and me we're after one and the 
same girl and the guy which loses out, 
he gets the so-so one. Which she ain't 
half-bad neither. 

First off, on the beach. Red sashays 
up to Charmian, slaps her on the back 
and says "I'm sure glad you're feeling 
bright and chipper now." 

Charmian, she's kind of glad to see 
it's us Americans. But she's a woman 
and the first thing she and her girl- 
friend want to do is take a ride on the 
Diesel on account of Cleo's told them 
so much about how she enjoyed it. 

"Let's us take a stroll on the beach! " 
Red says, "there ain't no fun riding in 
one of them smoke-wagons! " 

But, Charmian, she's got her mind 
set on getting a joyride. 

"Why not take a ride now?" I asks, 
"I just took on a load of olive-oil and 
the old bus is just raring to burn up 
the miles ! " 

Red, he glares at me like as if he was 
going to murder me. "I say she's tak- 
ing a walk on the beach !" he hollers. 

"What does the lady say?" I says 
sweetly. 

Charmian looks at Red and then she 
looks at me and then she looks at the 
little old Diesel which it's parked down 
the beach a bit. And she coos and puts 


her arm in mine. Which it's enough 
answer for me. 

I turns around and flip-cracks back 
at Red, "So long! second-fiddle!" 

And we turns and runs for the Diesel. 

Well, that ain't the last I hear from 
Red on that account. He's got a way 
with the gals that even a Diesel ain't 
got much chance with. And, before I 
know, I find that Charmian is kind 
of giving him the glad-eye every once in 
,a while. So, one day, Red and me is 
dressing in the same tent. And Red, 
he's combing his curly hair and getting 
himself all prettied up. Which I know 
there's a dame in the woodpile, some- 
where. 

"What's on the menu, Red?" I asks 
kind of innocent-like. 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he 
throws back. 

But I did know. I got my spies out 
and they'd reported to me that Red had 
made a date with Charmian and he was 
prettying up to see her. But I been busy 
too. Which Red he was soon going to 
find out. 

■yOU SEE, Red and me we was dress- 
ing like the Romans now with 
white togas, which they're like bed- 
sheets wrapped around us. We done 
this on account of we wanted to save 
our American clothes so's, if'n we ever 
got back to civilization, we wouldn't be 
found in rags or something. Besides, 
we figures that if we dress like Ameri- 
cans, we're marked men in battle and 
the enemy'd be out gunning for us 
right off. 

Anyhow, Red he's all ready to go. 
And, me, I'm laying back on a sofa 
watching him leave. 

"Have a good time!" I hollers. 

"Wadda you think?" he flings back. 
And he goes out of the tent and down 
the street. Me, I watch him go out. 
Well, he's about a block down, when, 


144 


AMAZING STORIES 


all of a sudden, something happens to 
his toga. Part of the bottom kind of 
falls out. He makes a grab for it, but 
when he does the part around the shoul- 
der falls off, too. Pretty soon, the whole 
blamed thing fell off from him and he's 
standing there in the middle of the 
street as naked as the day he was born 
and his face as red as a beet. The 
whole town is looking at him and the 
old women they cackled like mad and 
the men they laughed and Red, he 
swears bloody murder and starts in run- 
ning back to our tent. 

Pretty soon, he comes in puffing. He 
sees me laying back innocent-like on 
the sofa. "Who pulled the threads out 
of my toga?" he hollers. 

"I don't know what you're talking 
about," I says. "You shouldn't ought 
to be running around this here town 
like that." 

He gives me a look which it means 
he ain't quite sure what part I had in it. 
Then he starts in looking for his Amer- 
ican clothes. But he couldn't find them 
on account of, somehow, right then, 
they was resting at the bottom of a 
quiet little pool about a hundred miles 
away. 

"Lemme borrow you're stuff!" he 
says to me. 

"What for?" I says. 

"On account of if you don't," he hol- 
lers, "I'll pull that there toga smack 
off you're back!" 

"Come and try it! " I says. 

And he did. 

Well, we had a swell mix-up for the 
next half-hour. And, when he was done, 
I'm laying back with an eye blacked 
and my nose bleeding. But I still had 
my toga on. And Red, he still ain't got 
nothing to hide his shame. And he's got 
a couple of swell black-eyes puffing up. 
Which they're hardly the right thing to 
go visiting a lady with, so the etiquette 
books say. 


Anyhow, Red never got to make his 
date with Charmian. 

^pHAT'S how things go for a long 
time in Antony's camp. Nothing 
happens. Antony mopes for Cleo and 
Cleo stays in Alexandria and won't see 
him for love or money. Red and me, 
we try to get Antony out of the dumps. 
But he ain't got a mind for nothing now 
that he's lost his Cleo. 

But Octavian, he ain't sitting doing 
nothing. We hear he's been getting a 
big fleet of ships together and a big 
army that's coming up through Syria to 
invade Egypt. 

That kind of gets under Antony's 
skin. I guess it's what they call the last 
strength coming up in a dying man. 
Anyhow, he gets a big navy together 
again and sends them out to contact 
Octavian's men. But I guess Antony's 
admirals are getting kind of tired about 
his mooning around for his queen. So, 
as soon as they go out to do battle, in- 
stead of smacking into the enemy ships, 
the admirals order the rowers to raise 
their oars which it means surrender. 
So the whole danged fleet surrendered 
to Octavian which it meant that An- 
tony was left without no boats. 

That kind of hit Antony where it 
hurts most. On account of he thinks 
maybe it was Cleo that had sold him 
out. Anyhow, he gets together his army 
and takes off in boats to defend the wes- 
tern frontier of Egypt. But he was 
chased away and we had a hard time 
getting him out of that mess alive. 

"Let me at the fools!" he hollered 
in the Diesel. "I'll do battle with them 
single-handed!" 

But Red and me, we knew there was 
no use. So we stepped on the gas and 
pulled him out of that fire just in time 
to keep up from being surrounded and 
massacred. 

We takes Antony back to Alexandria. 


JOURNEY IN TIME TO CLEOPATRA 


143 


There we hear that Octavian's army is 
at the borders of Egypt and is starting 
to cross. That means that we'll all have 
to hole up in Alexandria and wait for 
Octavian to come up with his legions 
and try to take it. 

Cleo, she's built herself a gorgeous 
palace and she holes up there and won't 
let nobody inside but her maids, Char- 
mian and Iras, which they're girl- 
friends of Red's and me. That's how 
come I got to know all about what hap- 
pened. 

By this time, Antony was a gone man. 
He was drunk all the time and just 
couldn't get it into his noodle that he 
was all washed up. We heard that Cleo 
was planning to get him knocked off to 
save her own skin, but nothing come 
of that. Maybe it was on account of 
Red and me was always tailing him to 
see he wouldn't never get into no trou- 
ble. 

Then something happened which it 
proved to me that Antony was one of 
the swellest guys I ever did meet. All 
the time we're waiting behind the walls 
of Alexandria for Octavian's armies to 
come up and lay siege. Finally, they 
do come up. So what does Antony do 
but get together a bunch of tough hom- 
bres and us and we got out one night 
to attack a bunch of Octavian's cav- 
alry. Boy oh boy ! was that a fight. We 
was right in the middle of it all with 
Antony standing up in the seat and 
slashing away right and left with his 
big sword. Man] I ain't never seen 
so many heads flying in my whole life. 
And the horses and men we run down in 
my Diesel! I lost count of them after 
the first hundred. 

VX/"ELL, we won that battle all right! 

And when we went back behind 
the walls, there was Cleo waiting for 
us to welcome us. Antony was dressed 
in his armor which it was full of blood. 


And he run up to where she was wait- 
ing for us. And he threw his arms 
around Cleo and she threw her arms 
around him. And Antony, he began to 
cry, sort of. And I guess I got some 
sand in my eye, too. And, for that one 
night, Antony and Cleopatra were to- 
gether again- 

That kind of gave Antony hope. So 
he got together another mess of soldiers 
And we all went out of the gate again 
to do battle. This time, we drove An- 
tony to the top of a high hill where 
he could watch how the battle was go- 
ing. 

You know what we saw? Why the 
lousy traitors! Instead of fighting, we 
saw Antony's generals and men throw 
away their arms and surrender to Oc- 
tavian's men. That means the end for 
Antony of course. And all the way back 
to Alexandria, he swore at Cleopatra 
and said he was sure she had sold him 
out. And when he drove him up to the 
special tomb she had built, she wouldn't 
let him in. She had got wind of the 
big defeat and she had decided to hole 
up there and see what Octavian would 
do if he'd take the city. 

So we drove Antony back to his head- 
quarters where he got good and drunk 
this time. I ain't never saw a man so 
sore as he was. And the drunker he got 
the madder he got until I was sure he'd 
bust either from liquor or anger- 
All of a sudden, a messenger comes 
running up to where we was with An- 
tony. He was from Cleo's tomb, he 
said and he had news of her for Antony. 

We let him in and brought him to 
Antony. ''What do you want of me, 
varlets!" he hollers. 

"Here's a messenger from Cleo!" I 
said. 

"I want nothing of her!" he hollers. 
And, then, he kind of toned down and 
said, "What does she want of me now?" 

"She is dead!" the messenger said. 


140 


AMAZING STORIES 


"What?" Antony roared, "what do 
you mean?" And he jumped across the 
room and started to strangle the mes- 
senger. When we finally pried him loose 
from the poor guy, we learned that Cleo 
had takn poison and was dead in her 
tomb. 

Antony stood still. "What's the use 
of living now?" he said, "now that my 
only reason for living is gone?" 

Then he gets his man Eros to get his 
armor- "I'll soon be with Cleopatra," 
he said. Then when Eros brought the 
armor, Antony put it on and handed his 
sword over to Eros. 

"You made a promise to me once, 
Eros," he said. "You promised you'd 
kill me whenever I ordered you to do 
so!" And, with that, he opens his breast 
and waits for Eros to sink the sword 
into it. 

Instead, this guy Eros turns the 
sword around and sinks it into his own 
body and falls down dying at Antony's 
feet. 

"You haven't died in vairf, Eros!" 
Antony said. And, before we could 
stop him, he had turned the sword on 
himself and fell on it so the point went 
clear through his stomach. "You have 
shown me what to do, Eros," he 
moaned. 

TJUT he wasn't dead completely and 
he moaned for us to put him out of 
his misery. But Red and me, we lifted 
him up and carried him downstairs. 
Then I jumped into my Diesel and 
high-tailed it to the tomb where Cleo 
had holed herself up in. They 
wouldn't open up for me at first. But 
I got Charmian to listen and I told her 
how Antony was dying. Pretty soon, 
Charmian comes back and tells me 
that Cleo wants us to bring her An- 
tony's body. 

I gets back to where Antony was 
laying and Red helps me pile Antony 


on the Diesel and, pretty soon, we're 
on the way back to where Cleo is wait- 
ing for him. They couldn't get the 
doors open so I had to climb up the 
walls and rig up a rope so's we could 
pull Antony's body up to where Cleo 
was waiting. 

Well, we done that. And did Cleo 
tear her hair and put on an act of love. 
She threw herself down on the bed and 
hugged him and kissed him and called 
him her lord and master and husband. 
Naturally, Antony comes to again and 
the first thing he asks for is a drink of 
wine. I gets him one and it helps him 
a little. He tells Cleo to make terms 
with Octavian. Then, with his last 
breath, he says, 

"I'm glad, at least, that I, the great- 
est of all Romans, was defeated by a 
Roman ! " 

And, with that, he passes out com- 
pletely. 

T) ED and me hung around after that. 

Charmian and Iras was kind of 
upset about things and we thought 
we'd sort of keep an eye on them and 
make sure nothing happened. You 
see, Octavian was already at the gates 
of Alexandria and he was sure to get 
to this tomb where Cleo was hiding out. 

Sure enough, long about night, we 
heard the sound of trumpets and 
marching feet and a great big hulla- 
baloo. And we look out of the win- 
dows and there, down on the street, 
was thousands and thousands of Ro- 
man soldiers and, at the head of them 
all, was Octavian. He hollered that 
Cleo had better surrender. But she 
was game to the core and told him if 
he wanted her then he should come 
and get her. 

That don't set so good with Octav- 
ian. He's in Egypt, he knows, so he's 
got to handle their queen right or else 
it might stir up trouble. So he sets 


JOURNEY IN TIME TO CLEOPATRA 


147 


a guard around the tomb and goes 
away leaving us alone. 

Meantime, Antony was buried and 
we drove Cleo to the funeral. Then 
we drove her back to her tomb. She 
sure was a changed woman. I guess 
the funeral must've upset her. That 
and the rumor she heard that Octavian 
was going to kill her son Ceasarion 
and that he was going to capture her, 
tie her up in chains and take her back 
to Rome to show her off as his prize. 
That don't set so well with a queen 
like Cleo. 

Anyhow, she had Charmian and 
Iras dress her up real pretty when she 
got back from Antony's grave. Then 
she had Charmian write out a letter to 
Octavian asking that her body be bur- 
ied next to Antony's. I dropped it out 
of the window to be sent to Octavian. 

Then Cleo tells Charmian and Iras 
she wants to be alone. So they go 
downstairs where Red and me is wait- 
ing to hear what's going on. We pass 
the time of day for a while with noth- 
ing happening. Then, all of a sudden, 
we hear a scream from upstairs. We 
all run up and what do we see but 
Cleopatra laying on the floor dying. 
It seems like she had smuggled a snake 
in with some fruit that morning and 
had put the snake to her bosom and 
the snake had bit her and now she was 
dying. 

"I'm dying, Egypt, dying," she said. 
Just then, we hear a noise outside. It 
was Octavian and his men. When he'd 
got Cleo's letter, he jumped up and 
drove out to her tomb to try to stop 
her from killing herself and taking 
away the glory he'd planned for him- 
self in Rome. 

Well, things started to happen then. 
I made a grab for Charmian but she'd 
taken some poison and fell down next 
to Cleo, dead. Red had gotten ahold 
of Iras and had ducked out the rear 


door with her leaving me all alone with 
the two bodies of those two women. I 
hears the doors downstairs crash in. 
I run downstairs to try to make a get- 
away out the back door. But I see a 
mass of Roman soldiers there. Then 
I make a dive to the front door. And 
who do I see there with all his plug- 
uglies but Octavian. And standing 
next to him, as big as life, was that 
general Lucius whose wife Red had 
sinned up to and who we thought we'd 
killed a while back. 

"Aha!" Octavian hollers out, "look 
at the rat we have trapped here! the 
American!" 

"The kill is mine!" Lucius says 
and he makes a dash for me with his 
sword sticking out in front of him. 
Me, I'm caught and there's nothing I 
can do but stand against the wall and 
wait for that there pig-sticker to come 
shooting through my body. Closer 
and closer he came. Then, suddenly, 
he makes a lunge at me. I ducked and 
the sword kind of grazed my skull. It 
brought blood. But it also done some- 
thing else to me. I don't know what 
happened after that. On account of 
everything went black. And I began 
to hear that funny kind of music like 
as if it was a million miles away. And 
my body got lighter and lighter like as 
if it was a cloud. And, pretty soon, I 
felt like as if I was nothing. 

Then I come to again. And, what 
do you think? I found myself laying 
next to my old Diesel smack in the 
middle of the Indianapolis Speedway. 
And the crowd was yelling their heads 
off for blood on account of, I guess, I 
had been in a smashup. 

Well, I rubbed my eyes and looked 
around for Red. But there was no 
Red to be seen. I guess it was neces- 
sary to get a blow on the head, like I 
got from Lucius, to get away from 32 
B.C. in Rome and get back to the 


148 


AMAZING STORIES 


good ole U.S.A. like I was now. 

But, don't worry. Red'll be back 
soon, if I know Iras. She's one of 
those gabby gals, you know, the kind 
that'll drive her man nuts with talk, 
talk, talk. And then, one day, she'll 
wind up by throwing something at 
Red's head when he comes home late 


★ AMAZING 

PERFECT air safety requires a plane to be 
able to lose speed without danger, come to 
a stop in mid-air, and land in a apace litlie 
larger than itself. That ideal is now being swiftly 
approached by a plane without wings! 

Germany developed it, but the United States, 
quickly beginning research on the basic principles, 
lias already carried it so far as to put it into 
regular use! 

The plane is a helicopter. This is quite differ- 
ent from an autogyro, which is a regular plane 
plus a set of horizontal windmill blades. The 
autogyro sets ail its forward motion through the 
standard propeller, even in landing and taking off, 
and the windmill blades only enable it to ascend 
or descend more slowly and at a sharper angle. 
But the new helicopter, with only two motor- 
drive?i rotor propellers over a wingless fuselage, 
can rise straight off the ground. 

Moreover, merely by changing the angle of the 
propellers, it can fly sideways, backwards, or 
haver motionless in one. spot. Even with the motor 
dead, it descends slower than a parachute! 

In other respects the helicopter already ap- 
proaches standard planes in performance — with a 
"ceiling" of 10,000 feet and a speed of 100 miles 
an hour! But it is its qualities making for safety 
which interest our government. In Germany, one 
of these helicopters was flown inside the exhibition 
hall I 

That performance spurred this country to pour 
all its talent and facilities into rotary-wing re- 
search. And now a plane of this type is being 
used at Philadelphia to carry the U. S. Mail from 
the airport to the roof oi the post-office ! 
* * * 

ONE of the many things we have to ''do with- 
out" in this war is cellophane. If you have 
missed some of the elaborate wrappings on your 
favorite store items, it may comfort you to know 
that cellophane is being used to keep dust, germs, 
and moisture from the food for our soldiers. 

The Quartermaster Corps of the United States 
Army has chosen cellophane as a basic wrapping 
for its supplies for several reasons. Foods must 
be protected from the snows and sub-zero tem- 
peratures of the Arctic. They must be protected 
from the sun and heat and high atmospheric 


one night and tells her he was at a 
Lodge meeting of the Egyptian 
Sphinx Benevolent Association or 
something. And he'll get a blow on the 
head. So, if you happen to see a guy 
walking around the Speedway in a to- 
ga one of these days, you'll know it's 
Red. 


ODDITIES * 

humidity of the tropic. And they must be pro- 
tected against mildew, insects, and vermin. Occa- 
sionally, too, supplies may stand exposed on wet 
beaches until they can be stored— another situa- 
tion where food for the fighters must be guarded. 

So the thin, strong cellulose film was among 
the materials chosen. Because of its unusual 
moisture-proof, dust-proof, and contamination- 
proof properties, and because of its light weight, 
its transparency, and its easy application, it was 
given considerable attention by Quartermaster 
Corps officials and was finally announced to be 
the choice for effective packaging of emergency 
rations. 

The cellulose film is used extensively on the 
'"K" ration, one of the masterpieces of the Sub- 
sistence Laboratory's efforts along the hue of 
•'pocket provision." This ration consists of three 
meals, each in its own package, and weighs alto- 
gether about two pounds. These two pounds carry 
more than 3,700 calories of energy. 

The breakfast unit consists of a can of chopped 
ham and eggs, a fruit bar (a blend of apples, apri- 
cots, prunes, and raisins), two packages of bis- 
cuits (of special Army formula), an envelope of 
quickly dissolving coffee, three lumps of sugar, a 
stick of gum, and four cigarettes. 

The cellophane enters the breakfast picture as 
follows : 

The fruit bar and each package of biscuits may 
be individually wrapped in cellophane. These, 
plus the foil envelope of coffee, the sugar, and the 
chewing gum, are all enclosed in a seal bag, which 
may also be of double- thickness cellophane. In a 
separate cellophane-wrapped package are the four 
cigarettes. 

For the noon meal, the soldier on emergency 
rations receives a can of meat and cheese, a box 
of malted milk or dextrose tablets, two more pack- 
ages of Army formula biscuits (called K-l and 
K-2), and an envelope containing powdered lemon 
juice fortified with synthetic Vitamin C, to be 
dissolved with three lumps of sugar in a pint of 
water. Chewing gum and cigarettes again complete 
the meal. 

The envelope containing the lemon-juice pow- 
der may be of cellophane. 
In the evening, meat is included again. With 


AMAZING ODDITIES 


149 


it go two more packages of biscuits, an envelope 
(which may be of cellophane) of powdered bouil- 
lon to be dissolved in hot or cold water, and a 
two-ounce portion of a highly nourishing chocolate 
bar containing oat flour, milk powder, and ISO 
units of Vitamin B-l. This is known as the 
"D-bar." Gum and cigarettes provide the refresh- 
ments at the end of the day. 

Throughout the analysis of soldiers' "K" ra- 
tions, you see, cellophane has appeared as a signi- 
ficant packaging agent in the war. Only after we 
see Victory will the pretty little wrapper be a 
part of every civilian's shopping life again. 

* * * 

"TTMM, fresh fruit salad, but why is it so 
A A brown?" Every housewife and chef knows 
that fruits such as apples, bananas, pears and 
peaches quickly discolor and become unappetizing 
in appearance when cut and left exposed to air. In 
terms of pantry labor this has meant that all 
sliced fresh fruits must be prepared at the last 
minute-— practically while the other food is being 
served— thereby eliminating quantity serving at 
parties. And, according to Dr. M. A. Joslyn of 
the University of California Agricultural Experi- 
ment Station, brown discolored fruit is not only 
unpleasant to look at and frequently fiat and 
flavorless to taste, but it also cheats you of the 
vitamins you are paying for. 

The problem was worked on by scientists at 
the Boyce Thompson Institute for Plant Research, 
Inc., at Yonkers, New York, and they discovered 
a non-toxic chemical, tbiocarbamide, which would 
effectively prevent discoloring of cut plant tissue. 
It has been made available in tablet form under 
the name of Frulite, 

A tablet of thiocarbamide dissolved in a quart 
of cold water is adequate to treat a quantity of 
sliced fruit and if any of the solution is left, it 
may be used again. The cut fruit is immersed in 
the solution for not more than thirty seconds, 
drained and put into the refrigerator. Cut fruit 
treated in this way will retain its normal color 
at room temperature for one day; in frozen con- 
dilions, it will not discolor even after many 
months, and sliced apples, treated previous to 
drying, will retain their full color two to three 
months at room temperature or a year in cold 
storage. 

* * * 

CINCE the outbreak of the war most housewives 
^ have been quite alarmed by the fact that it 
is next to impossible to purchase a bottle of com- 
mon, everyday ammonia. Moreover, they do not 
know the reason for the sudden disappearance of 
this household item. The reason is that ammonia 
has gone to war. That is, there are hundreds of 
places in the production of bombs, explosives, 
torpedoes, bullets, and shells where the need for 
ammonia is indispensable. For example, the 
combination of ammonia and oxygen gives nitric 
acid. And all explosives demand the use of nitric 
acid in their production. Moreover, ammonia is 


essential in the refining of crude oil. Many of the 
harmful acids in crude oil are neutralized so that 
the oil may be used by the military machines. 
But these examples are only indicative of the vast 
role that ammonia must play if our war effort is 
to be a success. 

Ammonia is used in the manufacture of an un- 
told number of pertinent civilian products. But 
in order that it may fill the position demanded 
of it by the modern scientific war, its use in 
civilian products has been drastically curtailed. 

Although ammonia commands a somewhat sig- 
nificant position in our present economy, it con- 
sists of comparatively common place elements : 
it is merely one part nitrogen combined with 
three parts of hydrogen. Furthermore, nitrogen 
is four-fifths of the air we breathe and hydrogen 
is a part of the water we drink every day. How- 
ever, these elements must be combined cbemically 
in order to produce ammonia. 

* * * 

CPIDERS have a love-life too. In fact the 
methods by which a spider goes about win- 
ning his spouse resembles that of some of our 
most law-abiding male citizens. 

Instead of an engagement ring, a male spider 
will capture a fly, wrap it up in silken threads, 
and bring it to the female spider whom he is 
courting. If she accepts the fly they are con- 
sidered engaged. 

Sometimes a spider must use more drastic 
means if his choice does not seem to care for him. 
He will spin a beautiful web near the female 
spider. He then diverts her attention by dancing. 
She usually also begins to dance going perilously 
near his spider web. If he succeeds in pushing 
her into the web she is his. 

Certain male spiders are very shy and there- 
fore approach the female in a very timid manner; 
others who are rather cocky will come and strut 
before their chosen females displaying their Atlas- 
like physiques. 

Those spiders who are more on the playful 
side or who are musically inclined may pull on 
the strings of a spider web as though playing a 
harp. If the female signals back to the male by 
pulling on the harp strings she signifies her willing- 
ness to mate with that particular male. 

In other cases we find the male spider using 
something similar to cave-man tactics to capture 
his bride. While she is spinning a thread in 
escaping him he will seize the thread which she 
is spinning, wrap it around her and take her borne 
with him. 

Woe to the suitor who fails to capture the 
spider of his choice. Since female spiders are 
larger than the males he must escape immediately 
if she refuses him or rather refuses to follow his 
playful tactics. Some females, if they dislike 
their suitors, will rush out, capture the male 
spider, pull him into the nest and devour him. 
Others, such as the black widow, may even poison 
an unlucky suitor. 



There was a strange city below the 
surface of this waterless lake — a city 
as deadly to enter as it was to leave! 


HEAT waves danced like trans- 
parent dervishes over the blis- 
tering floor of Death Valley, 
bringing a steady stream of perspiration 
to Dave Weston's blocky face. The 
young Caltech astro-physicist stood on 
a rocky promontory of Telescope Peak 
and swept the burning badlands through 
powerful binoculars, his lean frame 
rigid with hope and expectancy. 

Dust lay thick on his field boots and 
clothing, evidence of the laborious 
climb up the steep slants of the Peak. 
His leonine head swung slowly as he 
played the glasses over the weird, dead- 


ly beauty of the Valley below him. 
Worry and anxiety were etched plainly 
at the sides of his fine mouth. Mysteri- 
ous, silent, the Valley only mocked back 
at him, its secrets locked behind the hot, 
blue haze. For the thousandth time he 
told himself that his father would never 
be found alive here. But despite this 
conviction, each new day saw him high 
in the burning hills searching for the 
slightest indication to disprove his be- 
lief. 

Now the discordant notes of a wheezy 
harmonica came to him as he probed 
the badlands with his glasses. It was 



152 


AMAZING STORIES 


an oddly carefree sound in the brood- 
ing quiet of the desert. But he drew 
some comfort from it and glanced at 
one of his guides, Mac Barwell, who 
lay in the scant shade of a sage bush, 
shoulders against red lava bomb as he 
beat a patched boot in time with his 
impromptu recital. Beside him, Bill 
Harrigan, big enough to make two of 
the withered Mac, and as sad-faced as 
only a desert rat can be, drew noisily 
on his corncob pipe, his faded eyes look- 
ing off distantly. 

But the young scientist was not con- 
scious of either of them. His sun-dark- 
ened face creased into bitter lines. 
Somewhere down there, amid the wild, 
treacherous beauty of this God-for- 
saken wilderness of salt flats, craggy 
peaks, and poisoned waterholes, wan- 
dered Charles Weston. 

The postmaster at Copper Springs 
had told Dave that two weeks ago his 
father, lately retired from California 
Institute of Technology, where Dave 
now occupied his chair, had come in 
with his pack animals and mailed the 
letter that brought him out here. In 
the pocket of the lanky scientist's khaki 
shirt, the letter seemed to grow heavy 
with the importance attached to it. 

Brief and cryptic, it was typical of 
Charles Weston: 
My dear Dave. 

This will be the last time I shall 
communicate with you by letter. 
I am returning to camp today to re- 
main indefinitely. 

Now for the news. I am cer- 
tain at last that I have found the 
trail of the meteorite! Unless the 
Palomar telescope and spectro- 
graphs are very much wrong, mil- 
lions of dollars in precious metals 
are within my reach I That means 
I will need you immediately. 

Come at once to Copper Springs, 
bringing the portable shortwave 


set with you. Listen for my sig- 
nals at nine P. M., March 21, when 
I shall give you full instructions 
for reaching me. I'm counting on 
you, Dave! 

Your father. 

Dave's face grew darker. March 
twenty-first was a week ago. That 
night and every night since, he had 
listened. Yet out of the mystery of 
the desert had come no signal. 

Grimly, he lowered the glasses, a deep 
sigh expanding his chest. Thoughts 
came crowding through his mind, 
barbed reminders of the past. 

It had been four years ago that the 
two hundred-inch telescope at Mount 
Palomar detected a tiny projectile fly- 
ing off the surface of Jupiter. That the 
meteor's orbit was carrying it toward 
earth kindled astronomical interest to 
white heat. 

When it struck in Death Valley two 
years ago, scientists and adventurers 
came from all over the world to search 
for it. Spectrographs of the falling 
meteorite's trail indicated that quan- 
tities of gold, platinum, silver, and other 
precious metals were abundant in it. 
But the fierce heat of the valley was like 
a blow-torch on the luxury-softened 
searchers. Nearly fifty men. found un- 
marked graves in the first year of the 
search. 

Even airplanes failed to find the 
barest trace of a meteor crater. Gradu- 
ally the search tapered off to less than 
a score of wanderers. Charles Weston 
was one of them. 

The thought burned like acid in 
Dave's mind that his father had joined 
the other courageous but foolhardy men 
who had fallen out there. Yet he knew 
the hoplessness of scouring the wasted 
valley of death for his father. He 
could only search for him as he was 
searching today, holding pack animals, 
provisions, and his guides in constant 


SPAWN OF JUPITER 


153 


readiness, should he pick up a clue by- 
radio or binoculars. 

T~JAVE swung back to the trail as Bill 
Harrigan growled dolefully, "Sev- 
en days now we've come up here, Dave. 
Seven days you've paid me an' Mac to 
hold our burros ready. Reckon it would 
be dishonest of me not to speak what's 
in my mind." 

Dave hooked his thumbs over his 
belt, squinting almost belligerently at 
the grizzled old giant. "Well?" he 
snapped. 

Harrigan shoved his hat down on his 
face and scratched the back of his head. 
"It's like this," he grunted. "I've seen 
dozens of men pack out into the Funer- 
als or the Panamints like your dad did. 
Some of 'em have come back, some 
ain't. But I'll tell you this. Waitin' 
and searchin's no good. If a man's 
gonna come out, he'll come. If he ain't, 
nobody but the buzzards will know 
where to look." 

Mac Barwell sprang to his feet. Wat- 
ery blue eyes flashed in the leathery 
skin of his face. "Why, you cantanker- 
ous, pessimistic oaf!" he scourged. 
" 'Course Weston's coming out. Just 
because he's a mite late, you git as long- 
faced as a sagehen at a mass meetin' of 
coyotes." The old prospector glanced 
apologetically at Weston. "Bill alius 
was one to see the darkest side," he 
excused. 

Harrigan wagged his great head 
mournfully. "It's a sort of phee-loso- 
phy of mine," he protested, "that if you 
follow anything far enough, you'll find 
it turns out for the worst. Hard-headed 
common sense, is all." 

"Common sense or not," Dave 
ground out, "I'll keep tramping up here, 
and listening over that radio, until I've 
got proof my father is dead. You're 
getting paid by the day. If you want 
to back out, do it now." 


Bill Harrigan stood up straight, a 
hurt look coming over his features. 
"The money don't enter into it." He 
shook his head. "I jest hate to see a 
man Iivin' on false hope." 

Dave slung the canteen over his 
shoulder. He faced the pair of them 
squarely. "I don't think it is false 
hope," he said quietly. "My father has 
a sort of philosophy too. He thinks 
that a man with intelligence and cour- 
age can lick almost anything ... in- 
cluding the desert. Wherever he is, 
I'm willing to bet he's got water and 
food. The heat at this time of the 
year wouldn't be bad enough to get him, 
either. Save your sympathy for some- 
body that needs it, Bill. I don't think 
Charles Weston does." 

J^T THE foot of the peak, they got 
into Dave's dusty roadster again 
and headed back for Copper Springs. 
About five miles out of town they 
slowed down as a car, parked beside the 
road, caught their attention. It was 
empty, and the driver was nowhere in 
sight. 

Then Dave was grinding the car to a 
stop. Just off the road, a hundred feet 
ahead, lay the form of a girl! 

Dave was the first to reach her. Face 
down, she lay in a pathetic little huddle 
against the coarse ground. As he 
picked her up, something that shone 
like polished bronze fell from her hand. 
Almost instantly, then, she awoke. 

The scientist had a disturbing, heart- 
stopping moment of staring into 
frightened blue eyes. He was consci- 
ous of the lightness of her slender body, 
of the cameo-like perfection of her 
tanned features. Her lips, parted 
slightly, revealed glistening white teeth. 

"Did you hear it?" she whispered 
suddenly. 

Dave began to wonder if what he'd 
said about heat prostration was quite 


154 


AMAZINS STORIES 


correct. "We didn't hear a thing," he 
said seriously. "We were driving by, 
and — here we are." 

The girl seemed to be in a trance of 
some sort. She closed her eyes again, 
and, shaking her head, murmured, "It 
was beautiful! Music — I've never 
heard anything like it. It was like the 
sound of thousands of violins, rising 
and falling. I heard chimes, and voices, 
way off . . . they seemed to come from 
the north." 

Bill Harrigan shot a glance at Mac. 
He shook his head. "And her so young," 
he whispered gruffly. 

Abruptly, the girl caught a breath. 
A blush stained her cheeks as she wrig- 
gled out of Dave's arms. "Oh! I'm 
sorry!" she gasped. "I guess I was 
still half-way paralyzed by it. But it 
was so " 

" — sudden," Dave nodded. "I know. 
The heat hits you so fast you don't know 
about it until days later. What amazes 
me is that you came to so quickly." 

"But it wasn't the heat!" The blonde 
hair tossed, emphatically. "I've been 
out here every day for weeks. I was 
looking for bits of glass. I remember 
reaching for a piece of brown obsidian, 
I guess it was." 

This time it was Mac Barwell who 
pursed his lips and glanced at Bill. 
"Bits of glass," he repeated sourly. 
"I've found 'em heapin' up rocks, 
weighin' 'em like they was gold. Lady, 
you just take it quiet-like and we'll — " 

Impatience brushed a frown across 
the girl's forehead. "I'm all right," she 
argued. "It wasn't a sunstroke, and 
I'm perfectly sane. My name is Helen 
Lodge. My hobby is collecting speci- 
mens of that curious blue grass you find 
out here in the desert." 

She began to seem a little more rea- 
sonable to Dave, then. He himself had 
often admired the delicate shades of 
blue and rose and amethyst the action 


of the sun and sand produced in ordi- 
nary glass. Old bottles, cut glass vases, 
tumblers, a hundred tlu'ngs dropped by 
travelers many years ago, were con- 
verted by nature's magic into items col- 
lectors paid high prices for. No stained 
glass artist had ever produced the soft- 
ness of tone the desert did; nor had the 
cause of the transformation been dis- 
covered yet. 

"When I touched that glass," the girl 
was saying, "it all started. The music 
seemed to engulf me, and I ceased to 
exist. I felt like a leaf drifting around 
out in space . . . helpless." 

With a sudden thought, Dave glanced 
down, remembering the shining thing 
that had dropped from the girl's hand 
when he picked her up. His eyes kin- 
dled with eagerness as he saw it lying 
there. It was an irregular mass of trans- 
lucent, golden-brown material. It ap- 
peared harmless enough, but . . . 

As he reached for it, Helen Lodge 
cried out a warning. "That's itl" she 
cried. "That's the rock I touched ! " 

But Dave was already standing up 
with it poised in his palm. And he felt 
no strange qualms, heard no strange 
music. There was suspicion in the fiat 
gaze that bored into the girl's faGe. 

"You don't hear it ?" she asked. 

"You don't feel any different?" 

"I feel," Dave Weston said, "as if I'd 
just picked up a rather strange-look- 
ing rock. That's all." 

Gingerly Helen Lodge reached for it. 
She gripped it in her right hand. 

And suddenly the two prospectors 
and Dave were staring in amazement 
as she quietly slipped to the ground, to 
lie there unconscious! 

CHAPTER II 

Out of the Silence 

^JNCE more she regained her senses 
the instant the strange rock was 


SPAWN OF JUPITER 


155 


taken from her palm. A feeling of 
eeriness gripped Dave. Mac and Bill 
stared like statues. "It's bad!" Har- 
rigan mattered. "Plumb bad! And 
you kin bet your pick an' burro on 
that! " 

Dave helped her up, feeling foolish 
and guilty. "We'll take you back in our 
car, Miss Lodge," he suggested. 

"You'll do nothing of the sort! I tell 
you I'm perfectly all right. I'm quite 
capable of driving home alone and I 
intend to do it right now. I've got a 
lot of thinking to do about this, to- 
night." A quick smile dissolved the 
sternness from her lips. "Why, who 
knows — maybe I'm a new Messiah, or 
something!" 

Dave could not repress a smile. "Any- 
way, I'll take this rock along and give 
it a once-over," he told her. 

"You'll put it in my pocket for me," 
she corrected promptly. "Maybe I 
can't touch it, but HI work on it some- 
how. Besides, Dr. Kaley can probably 
help me." 

"Kaley!" The savageness with 
which the name ripped from Weston's 
lips drew every glance. 

The girl nodded. "I'm Dr. Brand 
Raley's secretary. You know him?" 

"Yes. I'm Dave Weston." Dave's 
jaw thrust out, a smoky sheen clouding 
his brown eyes. 

Then the two bewildered prospectors 
were watching the look of anger inten- 
sify on her face, and they were listen- 
ing with raised eyebrows to her crack- 
ling reply. 

"I've heard of you, too, Dr. Weston. 
If I'm not mistaken, you and your 
father tried to cheat Dr. Kaley out of a 
fortune not long ago." She thrust her 
small fists into the pockets of her 
jacket. "Thank you for your help," she 
snapped. 

Before Dave could reply, she had 
spun about and walked to her car. It 


roared past them while the trio still 
stood in awkward surprise. 

Dave stared after the retreating 
cloud of dust. His fists knotted so hard 
that the knuckles showed white through 
the brown skin. "So we cheated Kaley, 
did we?" he muttered. "Why, the dirty 
swine !" 

Bill Harrigan's head rocked sorrow- 
fully. "From the minute I laid eyes on 
her," he brooded, "I knowed there was 
trouble comin'. Mark my words, 
son " 

Mac fingered his long chin. "If it's 
none of my business, say so," he put 
narrowly. "But jest what was she 
drivin' at?" 

Wordlessly, Weston started back to 
the car. But as the others fell in be- 
side him, he started talking in an ex- 
planatory voice. 

"I guess you wouldn't know what a 
photographic filter is," he began. "It's 
a piece of colored glass that makes it 
possible to take pictures through fog 
and other types of haze. One thing 
they've never been able to photograph 
through is the mist surrounding a few 
of the planets. Consequently, some of 
the planets, like Venus, are virtually un- 
known to us. 

"Five years ago my father and Brand 
Kaley began collaborating on a filter 
that would cut even heavy cloud layers 
like that. Two years ago they succeeded. 
Before Dad knew what was happening, 
Kaley had patented the invention and 
put it on the market commercially. 
He's made a fortune since then. Every 
camera hound in the country has one. 
Kaley's worth about five hundred thou- 
sand now. And Dad— well, he's still got 
his teacher's pension!" 

He got in the car and raced the en- 
gine into life. And because Mac and 
Bill were old and wise ia the way of 
men, neither said a word during the 
ride home. 


156 


AMAZING STORIES 


J~JAVE had set up temporary head- 
quarters in a small adobe house 
just outside the tiny, three-hundred- 
population city. At nine o'clock, as he 
had done every night for a week, he 
planted himself before the little short- 
wave set. He switched it on and set- 
tled the headphones against his ears. 

But this night his thoughts strayed. 
He kept thinking of Helen Lodge. Just 
why it meant so much to him that she 
thought him a would-be swindler, he 
could not say. 

When he let his mind rest on Brand 
Kaley — bluff, red-faced, military in 
bearing — his ideas became more defi- 
nite. Dave's shoulder muscles bunched 
at the fascinating thought of finding 
Kaley alone out on the desert some 

day. Just the two of them A lot 

of old grievances would lose their razor 
edge when Dave walked back from the 
reckoning. 

It was not particularly surprising to 
him that Kaley was out here. A scientist 
and a fortune-hunter himself, Death 
Valley's secret must have attracted him 
irresistibly. A cold sensation stole 
through his stomach when he asked 
himself if he could have followed 
Charles Weston back into the desert 
that last day ! 

Then all at once, his thoughts ex- 
ploded in wild confusion, as a faint 
whisper came through the 'phones ! 

Instantly Dave was crouching over 
the receiver. His hand trembled on the 
controls as he tuned the signal in full 
force. His lips were dry, his breath 
rasping. After an eternity it came again 
— a little island of coherence amid a 
sea of static — a distant voice, that whis- 
pered: 

"Dave I Dave, I'm calling you. Do 
you hear me? It's . . ." 

The voice faded back into nothing- 
ness. A sob of desperation choked the 
scientist. With the palms of his hands 


he forced the earphones tight against 
his head. "Louder, Dad!" he whis- 
pered. "I can't make it out." 

As if in answer, his father's voice 
swelled back, the words so distorted that 
Weston could catch only infrequent 
phrases. 

" — week I've tried . . . reach you," 
Dave made it out. "This will be ... final 
attempt. Terrible danger . . . send 
more. If you hear . . . listen closely." 

Dave's whole body was racked with 
tension. Then he was straining to hear 
as the voice from the unknown filtered 
weakly through the wires. 

"I have found meteorite. At least, 
what we believed a meteorite. It lies in 
a valley you . . . never find. There is 
wealth untold ... for taking. But tak- 
ing means death! 

"Do not come here, Dave! This is 
valley of death. Those who enter must 
stay. The very air . . . deadly." 

Dave's reflexes leaped like jerked 
cords as a loud, singing "spanggg" broke 
through his father words. Fear bathed 
his limbs icily. 

The voice resumed more distinctly, 
but this time there was stark terror 
edging the tones. "They have seen me! 
I must go back now, for the last time. 
I hope you have heard, though my bat- 
teries are all but dead. David, my last 
wish is that you shall never try to 
follow me. Because I mean this so sin- 
cerely, I will not tell you where Lost 
Valley is to be found. 

"Before I go, I will try to explain 
briefly what has happened. Those who 
live here " 

Crash! 

A terrific explosion thundered 
against Dave's ear-drums. Then the 
sound was superseded by a vast, empty 
silence. The young physicist dived at 
the receiver. But Charles Weston's 
message was concluded. Throughout 
the five minutes Dave sweated over the 


SPAWN OF JUPITER 


157 


controls, not another word boiled 
through. He rocked back in his chair at 
last, stunned. 

His eyes wandered to the moonlight 
flooded scene beyond the window. Out 
there m the waterless deadly world of 
sand and red rock was his father. Not 
a hope this time, but a certainty. 

Again and again the things Weston 
had said drummed through his brain: 
" — a valley of death — wealth untold — 
the very air is deadly!' 1 

What faatastic thing had happened 
to him out there? Had he lost his mind? 

Then he remembered the first explo- 
sion. That, at least, had been no one's 
imagination. At the recollection of the 
second, apprehension claimed him. 

After a while he got up and began 
casting glances about the room, as if he 
hoped to find there the secret of Lost 
Valley. His eyes fastened on a little 
collection of minerals he had picked up 
in the desert. All at once he stood stock 
still. 

His mind had flashed back to Helen 
Lodge, to the rock she had found, to 
the music she claimed to hear . . . 
Could that have anything to do with 
the mystery oj the hidden valley? 

Abruptly, Dave had sprung to the 
door and torn it open. He went through 
the house at a gallop, nearly scaring 
Mac and Bill out of their seats in the 
front room. 

"Pack the burros and be ready in an 
hour ! " he flung at them. "We're leaving 
at last!" 

CHAPTER III 
Lost Valley 

T>RAND KALEY'S place lay at the 
foot of a jagged little peak, a quar- 
ter of a mile out of town. The gaunt, 
brittle branches of a palo fierro screen 

patterned the warm rectangles of light 


along the front and side of the house. 
A familiar form appeared before one of 
the windows as Weston swung up the 
path. His impatient pounding brought 
hurried steps to the door. 

The light behind Helen Lodge threw 
her face into shadow, but her golden 
hair glowed softly about her head. 
There was open dislike in her face as 
she said coldly, "I thought I made it 
clear, Mr. Weston, that I am keeping 
that rock ..." 

Dave gestured impatiently: "Keep it 
— that isn't why I came. Not exactly, 
anyway. I need your help, Miss 
Lodge!" 

He kept right on talking as she 
started to shake her head. "My father 
is in danger somewhere out in the 
valley. I heard him over short wave not 
fifteen minutes ago. God knows where 
he is, but wherever that voice came 
from, there is death all about. I think 
you can help me find him . . . !" 

"I?" The girl's slim shoulders lifted 
slightly in an aloof shrug; but Dave 
read a quickening of interest in her 
features, a trace of sympathy. 

"Maybe I'm off on a tangent," the 
young scientist jerked, "but I've got a 
hunch that rock you found — " His 
voice broke like a snapped twig at the 
sound of heavy footfalls from the in- 
terior. 

Then a hardness settled in this face, 
matching the stiffening of his body. 
"Kaley!" he bit out. Under the frown- 
ing black bar his brows made, his eyes 
whipped over the other's blocky figure. 

Brand Kaley thrust a stubby arm 
before the girl, forcing her rudely back 
from the door. He planted his balled 
fists against his hips and canted a bullet 
head forward on wide, thick shoulders. 
Oblique eyes, alive with malevolence, 
slotted dangerously at either side of 
his flattened nose. 

Kaley, the scientist, looked more like 


158 


AMAZING STORIES 


a veteran of the prize-ring; but those 
who had come in contact with him knew 
the cruel, hair-trigger genius of his 
mind. 

"You've got crust, coming here, Wes- 
ton," he broke out angrily. "What do 
you want?" 

"Nothing that concerns you," Dave 
snapped. "I was talking to your secre- 
tary before " 

"Before I butted in?" Kaley cut in, 
grinning. "Consider your little talk at 
an end. While Miss Lodge is in my 
employ, she will have very little to say 
to you, I believe." 

"That's where you're wrong." Dave's 
gaze slid past the beefy features to the 
girl's apprehensive countenance. He 
took a single step into the room, when 
Kaley planted his palm against his 
chest. 

"Get out!" he barked. 

Dave clubbed his arm down with a 
chopping blow. "I'll get out when I've 
talked to her!" he responded angrily. 
"You got away with swindling my 
father, but you won't be the cause of 
his death if I can help it." 

"His death!" Kaley echoed harshly. 
"Weston, you're letting your imagina- 
tion run wild. As for my 'swindling' 
him, I refer you to Kaley versus Wes- 
ton — the court decided that question." 

It was Helen who spoke next. "Per- 
haps he's right, Doctor," she ventured. 
"The thing I found might be of some 
use. If it is " 

"Keep out of this," rapped Haley. 
"I told you to get out, Weston. I won't 
waste my breath again." 

J^AVE stood quietly watching him, a 
tall, alert figure in his dusty 
breeches and khaki shirt open down to 
the third button. "For a broken-down 
chemist like you were when Dad took 
you in, you've grown to something 
mighty dictatorial," he breathed. 


"You'd still be working in a lab for 
forty a week, if he hadn't recognized 
your brilliance and taken you on. You 
didn't have enough get-up to succeed on 
your own. But under his direction you 
helped him perfect his invention — and 
then stole it from him! If wolves ever 
masquerade as men, Kaley, I'm looking 
at one now!" 

Kaley struck then, the force of his 
fist hurling Dave against the door jamb. 
A slow trickle of blood wormed out 
of the corner of the younger man's 
mouth. With a muttered oath he drove 
himself forward. 

They met with the shock of two angry 
grizzlies colliding at full tilt. An ela- 
tion that was like strong wine flamed 
up within Dave. Every savage blow he 
sank into Kaley's body and face made 
his blood pound faster. 

The chemist was hard, his bulky 
body well muscled with heay sinews. 
For the first half minute they slugged 
and grunted and swore, each taking 
as much punishment as he gave. Dave's 
face felt hot and swollen on the right 
side from a roundhouse blow. 

Kaley's punches began to lose their 
sting. As if to bolster his own confi- 
dence, he tucked his bullet head down 
and waded in with both arms pumping. 
Dave sensed the change in his tactics 
and contented himself with blocking his 
fists as fast as they flew. Then Kaley's 
arms came down and he waited, pant- 
ing heavily. 

Immediately Dave jabbed a left in 
his face that straightened him up. He 
followed with a right that came from the 
floor, smashing heavily into his jaw. 
Kaley started falling backwards. Dave 
got a hand behind his head and held 
him there a moment. The chemist 
floundered sideways, swinging automa- 
tically at the bloody, grinning face be- 
fore him. 

For the last time Dave hit, his bare 


SPAWN OF JUPITER 


159 


knuckles slashing down across Kaley's 
face and bringing a torrent of blood 
from his nose. A dazed, stricken look 
came into his eyes. 

Then he seemed to fold up, like a 
split-open sack of meal. 

JQAVE'S first reaction, as he glanced 
up from Kaley's lax form, was to 
apologize. But the girl acted as though 
she hadn't heard him. 

"He never told those things to me," 
she said wonderingly. "He said it was 
your father who — who only helped on 
the invention . . . instead of himself. 
Is it true that Kaley returned Charles 
Weston's good will the way you said?" 

Somberly, Dave nodded. Then, ab- 
ruptly, he remembered what had 
brought him here. "The rock — you've 
got it here?" 

Helen indicated a battered old desk 
in one corner. "He was studying it when 
you came." 

Dave walked over and picked up the 
strange lump of amber-gold mineral. 
He handled it delicately, conscious that 
it might mean the difference between 
life and death for his father. When his 
eyes sought Helen's again, his face was 
grave. 

"I'm going to tell you the reason I 
came tonight," he began soberly. "It's 
only fair you should know everything — 
because I'm going to ask you to do 
something I have no right to ask." 

Briefly, then, he told of his father's 
search for the lost meteorite, of his 
failing to report, and of the conversa- 
tion of a half hour ago. Helen's eyes 
were doubting at first, but finally be- 
lieving. 

"But what can I do?" she wanted to 
know. 

"You thought you could tell what 
direction that music came from before," 
Dave said tensely. "If that's true, and 
if, as I think, this piece of mineral has 


some strong connection with the mete- 
orite, you should be able to lead us to 
Lost Valley!" 

It was not doubt and mistrust that 
came into the girl's face. It was eager- 
ness — eagerness that Dave stopped 
with a raised hand. 

"What I'm asking you is, to take the 
risk of dying of thirst if we get lost, 
perhaps of being followed by gold-hun- 
gry adventurers — Kaley not excepted. 
It's a thing any man could steer clear 
of and not be called a coward. Know- 
ing that, do you still want to help me?" 

Helen said quietly, "It means all 
those risks — but doesn't it also mean 
a chance for your father to come back 
alive?" Her face glowed with a quiet, 
sincere emotion that made Dave's 
pulses hammer. 

Impulsively, Dave seized her hand — 
to gasp with surprise as she cried out 
and slipped to the floor! 

Dave cursed himself as he pocketed 
the amber rock and helped her up. 
"Stupid ass that I am!" he scourged 
himself. "I forgot I was holding that 
stuff. It seems to work like electricity 
— and my taking your hand closed the 
circuit!" 

"It did this good at least," Helen 
smiled weakly. "I heard the music from 
about the same direction as before — 
over towards the Last Chance Moun- 
tains." 

"Good!" Dave nodded. "I've got 
burros, guides and food ready. With 
you to put us on the track once a day. 
we can't go wrong!" 

TJEFORE the brassy sun had rolled 
to its zenith the next day, the little 
cavalcade of four was winding through 
the broken, tortuous pass in the Pana- 
mints. At either side, gaunt, reddish 
cliffs climbed above them in crumbling 
steps. 

The day was hot already, with a 


160 


AMAZING STORIES 


parching heat that made them glad for 
the flopping water-bags and canteens 
festooning the sides of one of the pack 
animals. By turns they rode and 
walked, resting the small burros as 
much as possible. 

Harrigan stalked along in the lead, 
shaking his head glumly. Mac gave 
the party a circus-parade aspect, as he 
dragged discordant music from his 
rusty harmonica. Optimistic as ever, 
he swayed easily to the lurchings of 
his saddle beast, playing one tune after 
the other. 

At noon they stopped at a small, ane- 
mic waterhole and ate a hurried lunch. 
Then they were pressing on again. In 
the distance the purple ranks of the 
Last Chance Mountains shimmered 
through heat waves that gave them an 
unreal appearance. 

Some time in the middle of the after- 
noon Dave heard a faint, alien sound. 
Hurriedly he turned back and shot a 
look into the sky. Far behind them, a 
tiny black speck was lined against the 
blue cup of the heavens. A buzzard, 
perhaps, or 

"By heck!" Mac explained. "An 
airyplane. Ain't no mail route goes 
over thisaway." 

Helen gasped. "Doctor Kaley has 
his plane out here. Do you suppose 
he's ?" 

"I'd take a bet on it," Dave ground 
out. "He'd stop at nothing for a little 
gold to line his pockets." 

Helplessly, they waited out there 
while the speck expanded into a tiny 
black cross, and then became a roaring, 
dipping monoplane. All of them were 
kept busy trying to pacify the terrified 
burros as Kaley dived at them and then 
sent the craft into a steep climb. Un- 
expectedly, then, he went curving back 
toward Copper Springs. 

"So that's his game," Dave muttered. 
"He'll keep track of us that way until 


we seem to be reaching somewhere. 
Then " 

Abruptly he went to digging the lump 
of amber-colored material from his 
pocket. "Helen, we've got to reach 
there while he's back on one of his wait- 
ing periods. He'll be shooting out here 
every four or five hours, I'll bet. Let's 
check on our direction and push on." 

She nodded gamely, though as Dave 
slipped his arm about her waist to sup- 
port her, he could feel her body trem- 
bling slightly. A feeling of guilt as- 
sailed him, at the part he was forced 
to play. 

But as her eyes fluttered open after 
touching the rock, she became excited. 
"It's louder now! " she exclaimed. "And 
it's straight toward the nearest peak 
of the mountains." 

Bill threw his long leg across his 
burro. "I fear me," he growled. "We're 
plumb makin' our beds with cactus for 
blankets an' rocks for pillows if we go 
further." 

"But we're going, nevertheless," 
Weston snapped. "The fact that the 
sounds are louder indicates that we're 
getting closer. There'll be mighty lit- 
tle stopping until we reach Lost Valley." 

Mac slapped the big old revolver that 
hung at the hip of his baggy trousers. 
"I got pizen for wolves like Kaley," he 
said darkly. "If he comes close enough 
ag'in, I'll put so many holes in him 
he'll look like a flying collender!" 

The sun dropped lower, sinking all 
too soon behind the bony upthrusts of 
the Inyo Range. They were in the real 
badlands now. The next waterhole was 
fifteen miles away. Everywhere, the 
flat bed of the ancient sea they were 
crossing was pitted with great pot- 
holes. And everywhere their view was 
impeded by the small, flat-topped is- 
lands that jutted their eroded shapes 
from the floor like small mesas. 

Night came, bringing a blessed cool- 


SPAWN OF JUPITER 


161 


ness and a heavy darkness soon to be 
broken by the full moon. They made 
camp, to rest themselves and the burros 
for a few hours before shoving on. 

Through that weary night they plod- 
ded on, skirting holes and erosion- 
islands in their fight to bring help to 
Dave's father. Dave himself was stol- 
idly silent, plagued by merciless fears. 
Mac Barwell still tortured their ears 
with music and Bill continued to proph- 
esy the worst. But Dave knew by now 
he could not have found a more loyal 
pair in all of Death Valley. 

CHORTLY after dawn the ominous 
thunder of Brand Kaley's plane 
again struck their ears. Dave rushed 
the burros ahead, hoping to reach the 
shelter of the first slope of the Last 
Chances. In one of the many gullies 
slashing the foot of the mountain, they 
could prevent his frightening the ani- 
mals as he had done before. Diving 
upon them would be too dangerous 
there. 

Leading his burro, he ran past the 
Inst of the weird little islands. Then 
he was stopping in amazement, his eyes 
going wide. 

Before them stretched what looked 
like a small lake. Yet it had none of 
the deep blue of water — simply a soft, 
rippling sheen that hovered over the 
desert's face. Dave's first thought was 
that it was a mirage. But as they re- 
covered from their shock and hurried 
ahead, the sight came closer. 

Weston was first to reach the shore 
of it. He saw now that it filled a low 
spot in the valley's floor — how deep he 
could not tell, because, despite its soft 
appearance, it was utterly opaque. Gin- 
gerly, he placed a foot in the "water." 

Helen gasped, and Mac and Bill 
stared. Dave's foot had disappeared, 
as though cut oft at the ankle ! 

Cautiously, inch by inch, he waded 


out into that uncanny, five-mile-wide 
lake. To the others, watching tensely, 
it was like seeing a man sink deeper 
and deeper into the sand. Up to his 
hips, now, Dave looked like a man cut 
off at the middle. 

And still the scientist heard the grat- 
ing of his boots in gravel. Suddenly he 
was possessed of an eagerness to know 
what lay ahead. He started walking 
swiftly forward into the lake. 

The rippling surface crept past his 
belt, past his armpits, lapped his chin. 
For one fleeting instant he peered along 
a silver plane that tilted slightly above 
him. The plane became a thread 
stretched before him. One more step 
he took — and plunged himself into an- 
other world. . . . 

CHAPTER IV 
The Rebel City 

r JpHE desert's floor was there again, 
rough and dry, sloping sharply 
down from him to form a bowl-shaped 
valley broken by countless peaks and 
hummocks. Above his head was a rip- 
pling canopy that had been a lake's sur- 
face before. A harsh green light illum- 
inated the setting. 

But Dave's eyes were for the glitter- 
ing towers and buildings in the center 
of the valley. Spire after spire of 
shining metal thrust itself fr»m the 
graceful mass, pyramidal in shape, that 
formed the bulk of the city. The 
strange city was small — perhaps not 
more than a half-mile square — yet it 
hinted at wonders Dave could scarcely 
envision. 

Surrounding the cluster of buildings 
was a high wall that seemed to shut 
out the prosaic things of the desert. 
Caught in the wonder of it, Dave start- 
ed forward. 

Then a cry behind him drew him 


162 


AMAZING STORIES 


back. Helen stood there with the top 
of her head apparently cut off — still 
above the plane. Mac and Bill were 
two pairs of running feet that length- 
ened into legs and finally became men. 

All of them stood and gazed for a 
full minute. It was Dave who spoke 
first. "Lost Valley! You've led us to 
it, Helen. Let's — let's go down!" 

The spires gained height as they 
drew closer to the wall. One in partic- 
ular rose above the rest. From top to 
bottom its needle-like tower was en- 
circled by a series of rings that ap- 
peared to be floating in their places. It 
occupied the central spot in the city. 

Something close to fear clutched all 
four of them as a gate appeared in the 
wall and strange beings poured out. 
They waited while a horde of tall, cop- 
per-faced men hurried towards them. 
Then a new element stopped even the 
running men. 

A great roar came into the valley, 
the deafening echoes tumbling down 
from the flat sky. Without warning 
something rocketed through the divid- 
ing plane — Kaley's ship! 

Too late he saw what he had done. 
He tried to pull the monoplane up in a 
vertical climb. The engine whined, the 
struts screamed. But Kaley's landing 
gear was struck by one of the erosion- 
peaks that spun it around like a toy. 
The ship flipped over on its nose and 
sank slowly back. 

The gangling, awkward other-world- 
lings veered their course to the wrecked 
plane. Dave and his party stood watch- 
ing them. 

It was then, for the first time, that 
Weston realized someone had been call- 
ing his name. 

"Dave!" the call came again. "For 
the love of heaven, come here!" 

He spun about. In the next moment 
he was running toward the white-haired 
figure standing atop a high mesa a hun- 


dred yards away. The others had heard 
the urgent summons too. Dave paused 
to grip Helen's hand as she hurried up; 
then all four were racing toward the 
beckoning figure. 

Charles Weston called again: "Hur- 
ry, Dave! They'll kill you if they get 
the chance." 

A spell of mystery gripped Dave. 
They reached the foot of the hill and 
scrambled desperately toward the top, 
scarcely knowing what the hurry meant. 
It was when they had nearly reached 
the top that the first hissing "spangggs" 
began to burst about them. Patches 
of ground leaped and smouldered, to re- 
veal rough holes as the black smoke 
drifted away. 

Then they were sprinting after the 
elderly scientist. Suddenly the ground 
seemed to swallow him. Hurrying up, 
Dave and Helen saw a cylindrical hole 
in the ground. The four of them 
plunged through almost without pause. 

Still the chase went on. Weston 
yanked down a lever in the wall of the 
tunnel and then hurried ahead. Dim 
lights in the ceiling gave what illumin- 
ation existed. 

For fifteen minutes the nightmare of 
running down straight, rock-walled tun- 
nels, of breaking sharply to left or 
right when branches presented them- 
selves, went on. When all were nearly 
exhausted, Charles Weston staggered 
into a meanly lighted little cavern and 
stopped. 

The meeting between him and his son 
was simple, almost wordless; yet every 
man in the cave knew what they were 
feeling. 

"You shouldn't have come, Dave," 
the white-haired physicist reproved at 
last. "Not a man of us can ever leave 
Lost Valley alive. Even if we escaped 
Garth and his devils, death would wait 
for us beyond the dividing plane." 

"You didn't think I'd go back with 


SPAWN OF JUPITER 


163 


this job unfinished, did you?" Dave 
grinned happily. "We'll find a way 

out. . . . But first " 

"First," Weston said grimly, "you 
must meet our fellow prisoners. Mar- 
nok — my son!" 

'JpHERE was a movement at the far 
end of the cavern. Dave saw now 
what he had not noticed before — that 
the walls were lined with strange beings 
who stood in silence. 

A tall, slender man — Dave thought 
of him as a man immediately, though 
he was certainly not an Earthman — 
stepped from the throng. He wore a 
loose-fitting uniform of green material 
that looked like metal, yet stirred as 
freely as silk. 

His body was more than six feet tall, 
slender to emaciation, but graceful look- 
ing withal. His face was a deep copper 
color. The eyes that burned on Dave 
were red as fire, piercing in their brittle 
luster. Across his lofty forehead was 
stretched a thin silver cord, at whose 
center was affixed a silver plate in the 
shape of a diamond. 

He spoke, the words springing into 
Dave's mind as if by magic. His lips 
did not move, but the little disk quiv- 
ered slightly. 

"Ever the young must learn by bitter 
experience," he said softly. "Yet it is 
not in my heart to reprimand such 
loyalty. We who must die can yet ad- 
mire those who possess the qualities 
we have strived for." 

Dave heard Bill's muttered words, 
and almost found it in himself to smile. 
"Cheerful soundin' cuss I Never heard 
such pessimism in all my born days!" 

While Marnok spoke, all the strange 
people had been closing in on the little 
group. Quick suspicion leaped into 
Dave's mind. His father sensed it. 

"Trust Marnok and his people as 
you would me," he whispered. "It's 


those others we've got to look out for." 

Marnok smiled, interpreting Wes- 
ton's words, though he could not have 
heard them. 

"You said we were prisoners," Dave 
said. "Why is that? And who are 
you, Marnok?" 

"We are those who came in the 'mete- 
orite,' " the strange man said. "You 
call our former home Jupiter. We 
came from there seeking escape from 
slow death — only to find a quicker one." 

Helen Lodge gasped. "Jupiter!" her 
whispered word came. In fright she 
stared at the curious faces about her. 

Again it was Charles Weston who 
quieted their fears. "Marnok tells the 
truth," he said. "Jupiter is facing ex- 
tinction in another thousand years, by 
an explosion sure to come. For many 
years the planet has been contracting, 
until a terrific inner heat has been 
developed. The surface is so brittle, 
unlike that of Earth, that such things 
as volcanoes are unknown. Marnok 
came seeking salvation for his race." 

A babble of disjointed thoughts burst 
into Dave's mind. Somehow he knew 
that he was hearing the doleful reflec- 
tions of the score or so of Jovians cir- 
cling them. 

"Silence!" It was Marnok whose 
curt order stiffled the bedlam. "Hear 
our story, and judge then whether your 
friend who came before you was not 
right in warning you away from here." 

The things he spoke of, in the long, 
aching moments that followed, kept 
them all rigid with interest. At first 
they were unbelieving, then apprehen- 
sive, and finally — frightened, with a 
fear none of them had ever known! 

CHAPTER V 
Death in the Caves 

"VyE HAVE long known," the 
grave-faced ruler began, "that 


164 


AMAZING STORIES 


we must desert our home if the race of 
Jovians was to survive. While the sur- 
face of the planet became increasingly 
hotter, our supply of water grew smaller 
and smaller. It was when we were in 
danger of extinction through lack of 
water that one of our scientists, dead 
now for five hundred years, invented 
Arthonite — the metal which has pre- 
served us this long. 

"Arthonite has the property of pro- 
ducing in even the commenest elements 
the phenomenon you know as 'radia- 
tion.' This process, he discovered, 
simply consists of the atoms of a certain 
element losing a steady stream of elec- 
trons from their mass. As the element 
lost more and more electrons, it lost 
weight, changed its characteristics, and 
became, as you might have guessed, the 
next lower element in the atomic scale. 

"Thus we were able to reduce simple 
substances such as iron or copper into 
hydrogen and oxygen! Fusing these 
two gases, we were provided with an 
inexhaustible supply of water — while 
the Arthonite lasted. But the secret 
died with the inventor. But twenty 
years ago, only a small amount re- 
mained, as the metal itself shrank with 
use. 

"It was then we found how near 
Jupiter was to a catastrophe. Three 
amounts of Arthonite were made from 
the mass that was left. Three ships 
left to seek new homes. Where the 
other two landed, I do not know. But 
two years ago our ship reached your 
world. We have escaped discovery be- 
cause of the layer of mixed radiations 
hanging like a veil over Lost Valley. 
Solar light, cosmic rays, and the rays 
of Arthonite radiation produce this 
phenomenon. No sunlight comes 
through it, no Arthonite illumination 
leaves the valley. 

"That is why you must never leave. 
Were you to be exposed to cosmic rays 


for one moment, your bodies would 
shrivel!" 

Dave gasped. Before he could speak, 
Marnok was going on. 

"In the few minutes you have been 
in this place, you have absorbed tremen- 
dous quantities of radiation as deadly as 
the rays of radium. But those particles 
will remain dormant, until acted upon 
by cosmic radiation. We Jovians 
planned to protect future generations, 
against the time when Arthonite ceased 
to protect us, by having all children 
born and reared within a huge, lead- 
protected incubator. When old enough 
to shift for themselves, they were to be 
removed to the outer atmosphere. Now 
our plans have been altered." 

"Thanks to Garth!" Charles Weston 
broke in angrily. "Another case of the 
strong and stupid defeating the weak 
but intelligent. Garth was of a race of 
brutal monstrosities the Jovians toler- 
ated and used as servants. They treat- 
ed them kindly, teaching them all they 
knew. Garth is a sort of God to his 
more stupid racial brothers, because he 
has the cunning of a wolf and the blood- 
thirstiness of an Attila. The day they 
reached earth, he drove Marnok and his 
people into the open, keeping the space 
ship and its precious supply of metal. 
Since that time, he has built himself an 
impregnable fortress. The Jovians have 
lived like animals, hunted day and night 
by their enemies — the Korlons." 

Dave glanced at the faces of the men 
and women about them. Sadness and 
defeat were on every countenance. Sud- 
denly he remembered Kaley. 

"There's one consolation," he said to 
his father. "Our friend Kaley is in the 
hands of the Korlons right now! Pro- 
viding the crack-up didn't finish him." 

Weston smiled half-heartedly. 
"That's little enough consolation, " he 
said. Then, remembering all they had 
been through, he added, "One more 


SPAWN OF JUPITER 


165 


question, and then you must rest. How 
under Heaven did you find Lost Val- 
ley?" 

A sense of guilt came over Dave. He 
gripped Helen's hand. "I found it by 
sacrificing the happiness and probably 
the life of this girl. I found her uncon- 
scious in the desert, one day, gripping a 
strange mineral. She told me she heard 
strange, beautiful music when she held 
it, though it had no effect on me. But 
she could tell the direction it came from, 
and by following it, we landed here." 

Marnok shrugged. "Probably a small 
piece of Arthonite that fell out of the 
exhaust of the ship," he ventured. 
"Coming in contact with the ring you 
wear, it commenced working on it. The 
music was the effect of Arthonite rays 
on your sensory nerves." 

The explanation was logical; yet it 
did not make Dave feel any better. He 
groped for words to tell Helen of the 
remorse that was in him. 

Her lips smiled up at him, if her eyes 
did not. "I think if I had a few hours' 
sleep I could forgive even a crime like 
yours," she told him. 

Marnok gave an order, unintelligible 
to the earthlings, that caused the Jo- 
vians to fall back. Then he was leading 
the way through the cavern to a larger 
one, where crypt-like niches in the walls 
invited the exhausted quartet with soft, 
downy blankets. 

No invitation was needed to send 
them all to taking off their boots and 
rolling in. Dave fell asleep almost as 
soon as his aching bones sank into the 
soft bedding. Yet he had time to stare 
at the black ceiling and curse himself 
for bringing Helen here, and to wonder 
if this cave must be his home for the 
rest of his life. . . . 

'"PHE matter of excited voices brought 
him wide awake some time later. 
For a long moment he felt too paralyzed 


with comfort to move. Then he got up 
and walked through the corridor into 
the room where Marnok, Weston, and 
the others crowded about a dozen illu- 
minated plates on the wall. 

Weston shot him a worried glance as 
he approached. He indicated the flick- 
ering squares of glass briefly. "Tele- 
visors," he said. "One of the few things 
they salvaged out of the ship. Pickups 
hidden in the open give us some idea 
of what's going on. Look at them!" 

Each picture gave a small section of 
the valley; taken as a whole, they gave 
the whole broad sweep of terrain, in- 
cluding the city. Dave started. At each 
of a dozen points, groups of burly, 
armed Korlons were massing behind 
nests of boulders. Scores of other war- 
riors were pouring out of the metal city. 

"Something they've never tried be- 
fore," Weston growled. "Every tun- 
nel entrance is being covered. Soon 
they'll be rushing in from every point. 
The tunnels are thick with traps, but 
they're ready to sacrifice a few score 
to get us!" 

Dave's eyes flicked about the as- 
sembled men. They were paralyzed 
with terror. Here, utterly helpless, they 
stood and awaited the end. 

"What kind of fighters are you?" he 
snapped suddenly. "Haven't you made 
any plans during the months you've 
been down here?" 

Marnok shrugged. "Plans? They 
are four hundred to our sixty. They 
have deadly weapons; we have nothing 
but a dozen worn-out Arthonite guns 
we use for digging. Once we planned to 
take them by digging a tunnel directly 
under the Tower of Light. We did so, 
and five of our strongest entered 
secretly. We have never seen them 
again." 

Dave's forehead creased. "These guns 
— how do they work?" he wanted to 
know. 


166 


AMAZING STORIES 


"On power sent out from the Tower," 
Marnok replied. _ "Our guns receive 
barely enough force to be able to burn 
the earth when we use them for dig- 
ging." 

"Then if the Arthonite were cut off, 
the guns would be useless?" 

Marnok smiled bleakly. "Unfortu- 
nately, Garth has no intention of doing 
so." 

"But I have!" Dave snapped. His 
eyes burned into Marnok's face. "From 
the looks of that battlefield, most of 
their four hundred are out of the city. 
With a couple of men I could take the 
Tower of Light itself!" 

A murmur arose from the throng. 
Then Bill Harrigan's hearty guffaw rose 
over the sounds. "That's fight talk 
that does a man good!" he boomed. 
"Count me in, feller." He stalked from 
the dormitory, stroking his spade-like 
chin. 

Mac slapped his big revolver. "Like- 
wise me an' Bad News," he said. 

Marnok started to protest. Charles 
Weston stopped him. "New blood 
never hurt an army yet," he smiled. 
"This once, let me give the orders, my 
friend. The four of us will try this 
foolhardy plan. If it succeeds, you may 
once more rule the Korlons. If it fails 
. . . you are no worse off, nor are we." 

The Jovian considered. Dave was 
conscious of the gravity of the mo- 
ment, of the silence that brooded over 
the cavern. Then: "As you wish. I 
am afraid it can mean only death — but 
a glorious one!" 

There were no elaborate prepara- 
tions to be made. Armed with revolvers 
alone, they started through the long 
tunnel, Charles Weston in the lead. 
Dave paused for just a moment in the 
sleeping chamber. Helen was still 
asleep, her face placid in repose. 

Before he knew it, he was leaning 
over her, brushing her smooth forehead 


with a kiss. Emotion seemed to stifle 
him. There were so many things he 
wanted to tell her. Yet in the end he 
straightened and hurried on, leaving her 
still unconscious of what was taking 
place. It lay strongly in Dave's mind 
that this might be the last time he 
would ever see her. 

'^'HE tunnel ended a quarter of a mile 
farther on. Above them was a cir- 
cular steel plate. Dave gestured to Bill 
Harrigan, the tallest of the group, to try 
to raise it. 

Silence and tension were heavy 
among them as the trap-door grated and 
raised. Three gun-barrels followed the 
widening gap. Bill grunted with the ef- 
fort of moving the door aside. Abruptly 
it was done. 

Harsh green light flooded the tunnel. 
Dave hoisted himself through the hole. 
They had emerged into a great circular 
room, lofty of ceiling and gleaming 
with chromium walls. Through the cen- 
ter of the ceiling rose a slender column 
of bronze. Outside, through long, nar- 
row windows, Dave glimpsed the same 
amber rings he had seen on first viewing 
the Tower of Light. 

Cautiously he got to his feet. He 
helped his father and the others up, 
every nerve crying out against the 
slightest sound. Charles Weston 
stared about him with quick, eager 
glances. 

"Follow me!" he whispered. "I 
know the place by heart, from hearing 
Marnok describe the original of it on 
Jupiter." 

A circular stairway, constructed in 
the fashion of those in lighthouses, car- 
ried them up through floor after floor. 
Not a soul did they see. Once Dave 
paused to peer through a window. Al- 
ready they were far above the city. In 
the fields beyond, hundreds of Korlons 
were pouring into the tunnels! Appre- 


SPAWN OF JUPITER 


hension grew within him. Swiftly he 
followed Mac, who was bringing up the 
rear. 

They rushed on until the tower was 
not more than fifteen feet in diameter. 
Then Charles Weston stopped before a 
door. "Ready!" he hissed. He pulled 
down the opening lever — and sprang up 
the last steps and into the room. 

Dave got a single glimpse of a small 
room choked with apparatus. He saw 
the termination of the pitted bronze 
column a few feet above the floor. Wes- 
ton and the others stopped in the middle 
of the room, darting hurried looks about 
and seeing nothing. Dave was on the 
point of following them when a broad 
back slid before him from just inside 
the door. 

Someone grated, "One move, Earth- 
men, and you die!" 

Instinctively Dave fell back behind 
the door. Another voice broke out just 
as the rattle of revolvers striking the 
floor reached him. "Weston, you 
aren't so smart as I'd figured. You 
picked the wrong side to win, as usual ! " 

A flame seemed to wash Dave Wes- . 
ton's body. The speaker was Kalcy! 
He could hear his father gasp, hear Bill 
and Mac swearing softly. 

"I could die happily, if I could take 
you with me, Kaley," the elderly scien- 
tist breathed. "So you've dealt yourself 
into this game too, have you?" 

"In a small way," Brand Kaley 
drawled. "In return for teaching Garth 
the things he needs to know about 
Earth, when he chooses to leave the 
valley, I'm to have all the gold I can 
carry out with me. This little inven- 
tion of theirs can make gold out of lead, 
you know!" 

"I know that," Weston came back 
quietly. "I know, too, you'll never 
leave the valley to spend your wealth 1 
We're all stuck here. We're living 
radium bombs, every one of us!" 


167 

"You're lying!" Kaley rasped. But 
there was a shade of fear in his tone. 

Bill Harrigan laughed loud and long. 
"Sold out your own world for a mess 
of gold you can't spend!" he taunted. 
"Talk about half-cracked desert rats 
like me an' Mac !" 

"Shut up! " Kaley roared. "We'll see 
about that later. Garth, how much 
power can this outfit generate? Enough 
to increase the range of your guns 
about four hundred feet?" 

T^AVE could see the huge Korlon 
clearly, in the reflection of him on 
the far wall. He was naked from the 
waist up, with magnificent muscles 
cloaking his broad chest and shoulders. 
His face was that of a Jovian, but more 
rugged, with brute ferocity in the warp 
of his mouth. 

He laid a powerful hand upon an ap- 
paratus that looked like an anti-aircraft 
gun. "This gun already shoot that far," 
he growled. "No danger shoot it. But 
great danger if we turn out enough 
power to give such range to hand 
weapons. Why you ask?" 

"Because we've got to do it ! " Kaley 
cut in. "We could waste days and hun- 
dreds of men trying to trap them in the 
tunnels. And they've got to die! With 
a range of four hundred feet or so, we 
could cut straight through the ground 
to them without taking a risk our- 
selves!" 

Garth's great head nodded slowly. 
"Marnok say not safe to space the rings 
farther apart than now. Maybe safe 
for a few minutes. We try it! " 

His huge body lumbered across the 
room. He spun a wheel a few turns. 
Beyond the windows, the rings spaced 
themselves out. Dave's eyes widened 
as the column of bronze grew silvery. 
A low hum filled the room. 

"Give the order!" Kaley hissed. 
"The sooner they're safely taken care 


168 


AMAZING STORIES 


of, the better chance for you!" 

Eagerly, the great Korlon took up a 
transformer-like arrangement and 
placed it against his head-disk. This 
time his words were unintelligible to 
Dave. But in the battlefield, dense 
clouds of black smoke began to arise! 
The warriors had withdrawn to start 
their deadly attack. 

Then Kaley's voice tugged at Dave's 
attention. "Funny that young upstart 
of yours didn't come along," he 
probed thoughtfully. "I'd better have 
a look, Garth. It would be convenient 
to have the whole gang right here where 
we can finish them at our leisure." 

Desperation snagged through the 
young scientist. He shot a wild look 
about. The stairway was devoid of 
shelter. Kaley's steps thudded nearer. 
With a groan of despair, Dave swung 
under the rail of the stairway and 
grabbed the edge of the step. He swung 
down. 

Underneath the staircase were a num- 
ber of ragged bolt-ends. Gripping a 
pair of them firmly, he let himself 
dangle there a good thirty feet from the 
floor. 

Kaley could be heard to pass down 
the stairs a flight and then pause. At 
last, when blood was trickling down 
the physicist's arms from the gashing of 
ragged metal, he returned. 

"No sign of him," was his decision. 
"Give that wheel another quarter turn. 
Garth. I want this " 

His words broke with the slamming 
of the door. Instantly Dave had 
scrambled back to safety. Without a 
second's pause, he raced back down the 
stairway and plunged into the tunnel, 
closing it behind him. 

He was sick with the dread that he 
could not reach the Jovians in time to 
save them and Helen from cremation. 
Stronger still was the certainty that he 
could never get help back to save his 


father and the old prospectors from a 
horrible end. . . . 

CHAPTER VI 
The Last Attack 

r y 1 HE tunnel had grown almost un- 
bearably hot even before he reached 
the caverns. He stumbled along in a 
half-daze, sweat oozing from his tor- 
tured body, and his lungs spasmodi- 
cally caving and swelling with each 
rasping breath. 

Helen was the first to see him when 
he staggered into the main room. 
"Dave!" she cried. She came running 
across the cavern to him. And even in 
the poor light, he could see the wild des- 
peration in her face. Worry, pain, ter- 
ror, burned in her eyes. 

For a moment Dave held her tightly 
in the circle of his arms. Then Mar- 
nok's excited words brought him back 
to reality. 

"What's happened? The heat — it's 
killed a dozen already! Did you find 

"We found Kaley and Garth in the 
control room," Dave bit out. "They 
captured them but didn't see me. Garth 
has the power on to the four-hundred 
foot point for small weapons. They're 
trying to burn you to carbon from the 
surface." 

"Four — hundred — feet!" the ruler 
gasped. "He'll ignite the whole Tower! 
The walls are insulated to stand only 
forty units. That power is equal to 

sixty!" 

"But in case he doesn't cremate the 
lot of them," Dave suggested tersely, 
"I propose we get back and take the 
city while the Korlons are out. Or — 
are you ready to fight yet?" 

Marnok's eyes dropped. "We have 
been weak," he said. "Fighting was 
unknown to us. But we are ready 


SPAWN OF JUPITER 


169 


now! Tell us what we must do." 

Fifty voices — voices that dinned in 
Dave's mind, though the cavern was 
almost silent — greeted his statement. 
Crude weapons and rocks were brand- 
ished by eager Jovians. They crowded 
the exit tunnel so that Dave could 
scarcely control them. 

So they advanced, Dave and Mamok 
in the lead, Helen and the Jovian women 
in back. Five more died from the cruel, 
blistering heat of the smoking walls be- 
fore they had reached the Tower of 
Light once more. 

They poured from the trap door like 
ants. The thunder of their charging up 
the stairs shook the tower. Dave 
sprinted in the front of the phalanx. 
The entire Tower of Light was softly 
aglow with the overload of Arthonite 
upon it. The column that had been 
bronze now gleamed like burnished 
gold. 

Then suddenly Dave was shouting a 
warning as the door to the control room 
flew open. Brand Kaley and the mon- 
ster, Garth, stepped out with pistols in 
each fist. 

They commenced firing without 
warning. Half a dozen screaming shots 
burst among the invaders. Dave felt 
the death concussion of one of the bolts 
buffet him. Ten of the Jovians tumbled 
over the side of the stairs. Now a 
change came over the faces of the de- 
fenders. Garth glanced at his weapons, 
shaking them. Unexpectedly, he flung 
them at the attackers. The answer 
sprang into Dave's mind. 

The overload on the tower burnt out 
the delicate mechanism of the guns! 

'"THREE hurtling shapes burst from 
the room behind them. Bill Harri- 
gan launched a headlong dive at Garth, 
his big hands outstretched. But the 
giant Korlon nimbly sidestepped the 
prospector and gained the room. Kaley 


followed him. The great door thun- 
dered shut. Bars clattered into place. 

For ten minutes the Jovians battered 
at the door with rocks and fists, before 
they gave up. And then it was only 
because Mamok, glancing down into 
the city, saw the Korlon hordes return- 
ing! 

In an instant they were racing down 
the steps once more, with Dave's shout 
ringing in their ears: "Get out of the 
city. In the open we may have a 
chance!" 

At least, the Korlons had no weapons 
either, now. But the Earthmen could 
not help wonder, when they compared 
the Jovian slender forms with the 
rugged, brute bodies of the mon- 
sters. ... 

A shout beat up from the Korlons 
when they caught sight of their fleeing 
enemies. Four hundred strong, they 
swerved down the streets after them. 
Apprehension built heavily in Dave 
Weston. His father and the older Jovi- 
ans were weakening fast. Somehow, he 
must find craft to supplant brawn. 

Up ahead yawned the open gate of 
the city. Courage seemed to warm his 
veins with the sight of the broken, weird 
landscape of the desert. Out there they 
could lead them a chase for hours, dodg- 
ing, weaving, doubling back. Dave set- 
tled on a desperate chance. 

Working close to Marnok, he panted: 
"Lead your people down the next side- 
street. We'll decoy the Korlons outside. 
Wait a few minutes, then go back and 
try to break into the tower. It's our 
only chance." 

Marnok nodded grimly. As soon as a 
corner had separated them from the 
view of the monsters, he led his faith- 
ful band back into the heart of the 
city. Dave, his father, Helen, and the 
two old timers sped on into the maze of 
peaks and hollows. The drumming roar 


170 


AMAZING STORIES 


of pursuit was, paradoxically, a satisfy- 
ing sound in their ears. 

But Dave had not counted on his 
father's being so wasted with his hor- 
rible week in the caverns. Twice he fell 
and had to be helped to his feet. At 
each stumbling stride, the Korlons 
slashed the gap smaller. Helen was as 
lithe and fleet as an antelope. Bill and 
Mac blew like grampuses but kept up 
their end of tfie deal. Just after the five 
of them won the top of a plateau, a new 
element rose up to stagger them. 

From the Tower of Light came a 
hissing roar. A huge pit appeared at 
the side of the runners. Charles Wes- 
ton groaned. "The long range gun I 
We haven't a chancel" 

"I'd give my rtepes of findin' a pay 
streak a mile wide to have one chance 
at Kaley," gasped Mac BarweH. "Bad 
News'd fill him so full of lead he'd sink 
in his own tallow." 

"It's just like I said," Harrigan pro- 
nounced dolefully, "things alius turn 
out for the worst. You can't beat bad 
luck; when it's on you, it's on you." 

The Korlons stopped, giving them 
an opportunity to rest. But rest was 
denied them by the earth-shaking force 
of the Arthonite bolts. Time and again 
they were all hurled to the ground. Dirt 
covered them from head to foot. 

Helen struggled up from a partic- 
ularly narrow escape. "Maybe we could 
make it out of the valley," she sug- 
gested. 

"And be shrivelled up like ants on a 
hot stove," Dave grunted. "It looks 
like the game is Kaley's. Marnok 
couldn't have reached the tower yet." 
On the point of struggling on again, he 
panted wearily, "Dad, you decide. Shall 
we spend our last minutes ducking Ka- 
ley's cannon-shots, or end it quick by 
leaving?" 

Charles Weston swayed on his feet. 
His face was gray with horror. But his 


reply was never to come. For sudden- 
ly an eager light kindled in his tired 
eyes. "Look I" he shouted. "The 
tower — it's on firel" 

y^LL eyes swung to the slender spire. 
Mac Barwell swallowed. 

"Wash my britches in sheep-dip!" he 
hackled. "It looks like a branding iron 
left in the fire too long I" 

The description was an apt one. The 
rings of Arthonite glowed with an un- 
earthly green light, while the tower it- 
self had become a ruby red. The heat 
of it was terrible to contemplate. 

Silence, complete and empty, blan- 
keted over Lost Valley. The Korlons 
slowly turned to watch the thing their 
greed was doing. Hungry flames licked 
up and down the side of the Tower of 
Light. The tall windows melted, the 
molten glass creeping like tears down 
the walls. 

The great tower commenced to warp, 
to bend and buckle. Then two tiny 
figures appeared at the top of the struc- 
ture. They leaped, arms and legs fly- 
ing wildly. Halfway to the ground, 
they struck one of the Arthonite rings. 
Twin puffs of white smoke went up. 
It was as though a pair of luckless flies 
had run into a live wire. 

Seconds later, a thin cry drifted 
across the valley to thair ears. Brand 
Kaley had died with his wealth un- 
spent. 

The Tower of Light slowly sank in 
a twisting fall. And as it crashed across 
the city, a strange thing took place. 

The' harsh green light faded. A 
shadow passed over the watchers. Be- 
tween them and the city a shimmering, 
iridescent veil stretched, covering the 
city like a dome. Dave whirled, afraid 
of the thing he was to see. 

Behind them loomed the Last Chanee 
Mountains! Clear and gaunt in the 
late afternoon light, they towered over 


SPAWN OF JUPITER 


171 


the valley of death. Everywhere was 
the familiar, barren aspect of Death 
Valley. Rock and shrub and mountain 
range, they testified plainly to the 
tragedy. With the destruction of much 
of the Arthonite, the plane had shrunk, 
leaving them . . . outside the veil! 

They stood there like prisoners 
awaiting the firing squad. Not a word 
was spoken. Suddenly Dave awoke to 
the realization that the Korlons had 
ceased to move. He peered closely at 
them. In scattered heaps, they lay over 
the valley's floor — dead. Not a limb 
stirred. With the first ray of sunlight, 
their bodies had shrivelled. 

A pulse began to pound in his head. 
"Dead! " he whispered. Then: "Dad! 
Helen ! The Korlons — they're ■ dead 
and we're — we're alive. The cosmic 
rays haven't hurt us ! " 

Out of a long silence came Charles 
Weston's voice. "Marnok was wrong. 
It must take years for Arthonite's weak 
radiations to affect the body. Thank 
God for that! But Marnok and his 
people — I wonder . . ." 

""JpOGETHER they went down the 
slope and wound through the rocky 
terrain to the shining plane. Fearless- 
ly, this time, they stepped through it. 
It was almost dark inside. The gap in 
the city wall was before them, and they 
hurried toward it. 

Scarcely had they gained the broad 
streets when Marnok and a few Jovians 
appeared around a corner, hurrying to- 
ward them. 

The tall ruler seemed tremendously 
relieved. "We feared for you!" he said. 
"Had you been left outside the dome 
when it shrank " 

Weston smiled. "That is just what 
did happen," he explained. "But the 
only ones who suffered were the Kor- 
lons. Marnok, my friend, there isn't 
a man of them left." 


The coppery face lighted up. "I am 
glad," Marnok said simply. "For you, 
especially. There is nothing to prevent 
you from returning home once more." 

"But what about yourselves?" Dave 
asked. "The Tower of Light is gone. 
What will keep the protective rays from 
dying out now?" 

"Nothing." Marnok spoke rather 
sadly, yet hope still shone in his coun- 
tenance. "Within fifty years not an 
atom of the metal will remain. But by 
that time many Jovians will have been 
born and reared in shells of lead. They 
will have been transplanted into your 
world, to learn new things and teach 
you all we have learned." 

Dave nodded understandingly. "We'll 
find you some place a little better than 
Death Valley to live in, too, where you 
can get water and food without making 
a lifelong job of it." 

Charles Weston glanced anxiously 
toward the outside of the city. Obvious- 
ly, he was impatient to hurry back and 
astound the scientific world." 

Marnok smiled. "We will have many 
more meetings, you and I," he told 
them. "Now we both have much to do. 
Until you return, my friends " 

His hand lifted in salute that the 
others acknowledged in kind. Then 
they were striding back through the 
shining veil to look for the burros. Bill 
was muttering about the long walk con- 
fronting them. Then he suddenly re- 
membered something else. 

"God!" he exploded. "Almost had 
my hands on a hunk of it the size of a 
battleship, and let it get away from me. 
Its like I always say " 

"What use you got for gold?" Mac 
snorted. "All you'd do is buy burros 
and rotgut and go lookin' for more — 
like always. You got no kick comin, 
you catankerous old varmint. You're 
lucky to have a whole skin!" 


Cokie's hunt for wealth took him 
from Flophouse Row to the Mesozoic 
Age— and from there to a courtroom! 



"Here'* where I get me a pigeon!" Cokie yelled, and pulled the trigger 


COKIE 
TREASURE 


GOES 
HUNTING 


By BERKELEY LIVINGSTON 


' a n: 


N' I'M telling ya, the 'perfessor' 
ain't nuts!" 
Sylvester "Cokie" Mekie's 
voice was a high, angry squeak. His 
words were directed at Moe Maybrick, 
the fat little proprietor of Moe's Man- 
sion. 

"Well," Moe grunted, as his pudgy 
body searched for a more comfortable 
resting place against the rough bricks 
which bordered the entrance of his 
tenth-rate flophouse, "you may be right, 
Cokie, but I wouldn't lay money on it." 

"Wha' d'ya mean, Moe?" Cokie de- 
manded. He was perched on a metal 
refuse box, near the curb and directly 
opposite the entrance to the Mansion. 

Moe looked at Cokie for a moment 
before replying. The reason for Syl- 
vester Mokie's better known name was 
his predilection for that narcotic, co- 
caine. In other words, Cokie was a 
snow-bird. And if he was "high on it," 


Moe knew the uselessness of conversa- 
tion. But his look satisfied him that 
the little man on the refuse container 
was still in this world. 

"It isn't in the cards," Moe explained. 
"That little gadget he carries. Those 
X's he makes on the sidewalk. He's 
been doing it for ten years now and no- 
body knows why." 

"Ya know what I think," Cokie said. 
"I think the perfessor's looking for 
buried treasure, that's what! Ain't that 
right, Finnegan?" 

Traffic Officer Finnegan had just 
stepped out of the Manhattan Tea 
Room and on seeing Moe and Cokie 
arguing, had come over to join them 
Finnegan's breath held a pleasant 
aroma, but it wasn't from tea. If it was, 
it was the first tea that ever bore the 
label, "100 Proof." 

Finnegan stood beside Moe at the 
entrance to the flophouse and patted his 


173 


174 


AMAZING STORIES 


f perspiring face. He had the sort of 
face that is always perspiring. 

"Well now," he said between pats, "I 
wouldn't know what the professor's 
looking for. Nobody knows, because 
he's never said why he makes those 
marks on sidewalks. Or what's in that 
gadget he carries." 

"See, what'd I tell ya, Moe?" Cokie 
triumphantly exclaimed, as though Fin- 
negan had corroborated what was in his 
mind. "He's looking for buried treas- 
ure, that's what. And that's why he 
makes those X's on the sidewalk!" 

"Well I'm certaintly glad we got that 
straightened out," Moe said sourly, as 
he turned to go back into his office. 

Finnegan, whose hopes for a little bit 
of gabbing before going on post were 
shattered by Moe's somewhat abrupt 
departure, also left. 

But Cokie didn't notice their going. 
He was waiting for the professor. He 
had been watching the clock for the 
past half hour and he knew that the 
professor would soon show up. 

For the past two days the professor 
had come around at about four o'clock ; 
just before the rush hour began. And 
yesterday something had happened 
which had never happened before. 
Cokie was waiting to see if the same 
thing would happen today. 

Johann Van Shnook, better known as 
the professor, was talking to himself 
as he walked down Clark Street. 

"Ten long years ! Ten years of being 
laughed at, insulted, being called mad. 
But no more! I was right." 

His voice was a mumble. None of the 
passersby he jostled in his long-legged 
shambling shuffle would have under- 
stood anyway. 

"If only," the monologue went on, 
"the batteries are strong enough for 
the detector, today." 

The fingers of his free hand furtively 
caressed the batteries in his jacket 


pocket. Two lead wires ran from the 
batteries to the object he carried in his 
right hand. And the object looked like 
nothing more than a vari-colored glass 
ball attached to a stick, into which the 
wires led. 

If the object in Van Shnook's hand 
created curiosity, the man himself was 
enough to set people to staring. There 
was something in his gaunt frame and 
long bony face with its huge beaked 
nose and deep set eyes, that reminded 
one of a stork. A stork wearing ill- 
fitting clothes. 

"yAN SHNOOK reached Fourth and 
Clark. He turned down Fourth 
and walked down to where Cokie was 
sitting. After making certain he was 
properly oriented, the professor began 
walking in a criss-cross pattern on the 
sidewalk. His thumb had flicked a tiny 
switch set in the handle of the gadget 
he carried. Now and then little flickers 
of light would come to life in the glass 
ball. 

In his excitement, Cokie could bare- 
ly contain himself. Then, not satisfied 
with watching, he left his seat on the 
box and began to follow Van Shnook 
about. He noticed how the glass ball 
would light up momentarily then go 
dark again. He also saw that when this 
occured, the professor would stop, kneel 
and mark the sidewalk with an X. 

Cokie remembered that this same 
thing had occurred the day before. And 
that the professor had begun to close 
the gap between the X's, as though he 
were narrowing a number of possibili- 
ties to a positive point. But something 
had gone wrong. 

Not today, however. Van Shnook 
seemed to glow with some inner excite- 
ment. Then it happened; Cokie saw 
the glass ball light up as though it were 
a pinball machine. For a few seconds 
there was a strange purple haze around 


COKIE SOES TREASURE HUNTING 


175 


the glass. Then the haze and the many 
colored lights vanished and all that was 
left on the inside was a cloud of what 
appeared to be white smoke. 

When the glass ball became filled 
with smoke Van Shnook marked the 
spot with an X much larger than any 
of the others. He also used a crayon 
which left an oily, paint-like mark. 

Cokie was so interested in the pro- 
ceedings lie almost went to his knees. 
But the professor wasn't conscious of 
Cokie's presence. Nor of any of the 
passersby either, for that matter. 

So it was that he didn't know Cokie 
overheard what he said aloud : 

"My deductions were correct. This 
is the spot. And now I must return to 
the Cosmograph for a final adjustment 
and then — the treasures of the future 
will be mine!" 

He arose so suddenly that Cokie 
barely had time to get out of his way. 
Without a backward glance Van Shnook 
set off in the direction of LaSalle Street. 
And Cokie was directly behind him. 
The word "treasure," had started a 
train of thought in Cokie's mind that he 
intended to ride to earth. And the first 
step in Cokie's plan was to find out 
where the professor lived. 

Van Shnook turned north on LaSalle, 
Cokie a dozen feet behind him. Through 
the Loop, over the bridge, past Chica- 
go Avenue, the chase led. Finally, near 
North Avenue, Van Shnook, now a sud- 
denly purposeful figure, walked up the 
stairs of an old-fashioned red-bricked 
residence. 

Cokie was stumped for a few min- 
utes. He had found out where the pro- 
fessor lived. Now what? 

He noticed a passageway alongside 
the house. "H'm," he ruminated, "let's 
see where this goes." 

It led to a run-down affair, which in 
the '90's must have been the latest in 
coach-houses, but just now looked like 


a fine place for ghosts to play bridge in. 

After making certain he was unob- 
served, Cokie walked over for a closer 
examination. He peered through one of 
the grimy windows but it was too dark 
inside to see much. So Cokie tried 
the door. It opened to his touch. 

FORD sedan, mounted on a set of 
tires which had gone out of style 
with the boyish bob, took up most of the 
floor space. He opened one of the car 
doors and his startled eyes saw some- 
thing which made him sit on the run- 
ning-board for a few minutes. 

"So Moe and Finnegan think the 
perfessor's nuts! If they could only 
see what I just saw. And," Cokie's 
thoughts ran riot, "if they knew about 
the treasure — but they don't. I'm the 
only one that does. Me and the per- 
fessor. And if I stick close to him, 
maybe " 

Cokie was almost afraid to think of 
what might happen then. Too, all this 
effort of thinking had made him a little 
edgy. The gloom and stillness began 
to hide a thousand menaces. Cokie felt 
the need of a "shot." 

From one of the pockets of his vest 
he pulled a square little box, marked 
"For Headaches Only." Within, were 
seven round white tablets. He took 
one, closed the box and returned it to 
the vest pocket. From the lapel of his 
jacket, he took a pin and made a cir- 
cular incision in the face of the tablet. 
Then, with a practiced gesture, he emp- 
tied the contents of the hollow tablet 
upon the base of his thumb. 

Carefully, yet with an almost casual 
motion, he brought the thumb, with its 
powdered, cystal burden to his nostrils. 
Two sniffs; and his thumb showed 
clean. Cokie was ready for anything 
now. 

He got off the running-board and 
opened the car door again. He peered 


176 


AMAZING STORIES 


closely at the large glass ball which 
rested on the floor-boards. The ball, 
which was about two feet in diameter, 
held an intricate arrangement of tubes 
and wires. Their meaning and pur- 
poses were beyond Cokie's reasoning 
powers. But of one thing he was cer- 
tain: This glass ball and its contents 
had something to do with the treasure. 

Cokie's speculations were interrupted 
by the creaking sound of the garage 
door being opened. His small body 
found a dark corner to hide in. His 
eyes, used to the semi-dark now, saw 
that it was the professor who had come 
in. 

Van Shnook opened the front door of 
the car, stepped in and started the mo- 
tor. Then he turned in the seat and 
put his hand down to the under side of 
the glass ball. His fingers found a 
switch in the wooden base on which the 
ball rested. He pressed it and a low, 
whirring, humming sound emanated 
from the ball. The wires inside glowed 
white and the tubes sent off streamers of 
blue sparks. 

Cokie suddenly felt fear take hold of 
him. For a moment he had the desire 
to run out of the place. But Van 
Shnook was talking again. 

"It synchronizes perfectly; but will 
it register over the fault?" Van Shnook's 
sigh was audible to Cokie, who also 
noticed that the professor no longer 
mumbled. His voice was now clear and 
purposeful. 

"Ten hours from now and I will know 
what they mean when they say 'time 
will tell.'" 

After those cryptic words, Van 
Shnook pressed the switch again. The 
wires and tubes went dark. He got 
out of the car and went back to the 
house. 

Cokie watched him go, a wide grin on 
his face. 

"So he'll know in ten hours, will he?" 


he cackled. "That means both of us 
will!" 

He went back to the corner where he 
had hidden. From the floor he lifted 
a blanket and carried it to the car. 
After spreading it over the back seat, 
he crawled under it and fell asleep. 

He was still asleep when Van Shnook 
returned. The professor opened the 
folding doors to the garage, stepped into 
the Ford and without a backward look, 
drove out. It was almost four in the 
morning when he reached the deserted 
corner of Clark and Fourth. 

Van Shnook left the motor running 
and stepped out onto the sidewalk. He 
walked over to where he had marked 
the walk with the paint-like X. After 
making certain it was still there, he re- 
turned to the car. Then, twisting the 
wheels over onto the sidewalk, he care- 
fully maneuvered the car over the X. 

/"^OKIE was awakened by the jolting 
of the wheels as they passed over 
the curb. He peered out from under 
the blanket, when the car finally stoped, 
and saw the professor reach down and 
press the switch on the bottom of the 
ball again. And again there was the 
business of the wires turning white with 
heat and sparks shooting from the 
tubes. Intermingling with the whirring 
and humming was a loud crackling, like 
static over a radio. The humming grew 
louder and louder until the sound of it 
filled Cokie's brain. Every nerve in 
his body seemed to vibrate in tune with 
the humming. He tried to sit up. The 
blanket slipped onto the floor. Suddenly 
there was a loud, explosive sound. The 
glass ball became filled with a cloud of 
milky vapor. A purplish haze sur- 
rounded it. And with that, Cokie lost 
consciousness. . . . 

. . . Cokie began to wish this subway 
ride would end soon. The papers said 
the subway was a noisy affair, but this 


COKIE GOES TREASURE HUNTING 


177 


roaring sound was too much for him. 

"I wanta get off," Cokie said, and 
opened his eyes. 

It was daylight and his bewildered 
eyes took in the broad expanse of grass- 
land, visible from the side windows of 
the car. But the roaring sound was 
still to be heard. In fact, it seemed to 
be coming nearer. 

Cokie looked through the rear win- 
dow to discover where it was coming 
from. What he saw brought a shriek of 
horror to his lips. 

"YEOW! It's real; Quick, perfes- 
sor, get the car moving, before it's 
to late!" 

Van Shnook had also regained con- 
sciousness on hearing the roaring sound, 
and Cokie's cry of horror startled him 
into action. He set the car into motion, 
took just one look into the rear vision 
mirror and then his foot pressed the ac- 
celerator to the floor-boards. 

It was a lucky thing for them that the 
ground was level. For otherwise they 
might not have made it. As it was, it 
took ten minutes of furious driving to 
elude what was chasing them. And 
that was only because it found some- 
thing of greater interest. 

Van Shnook drove on for a few min- 
utes, then stopped the car. He looked 
at Cokie for a second, and said: 

"Get out!" 

Cokie got out. Van Shnook followed 
him. The two men faced each other: 
Van Shnook, tall, gaunt and suddenly 
dynamic looking; and the undersized 
dope addict. Cokie saw a terrible anger 
in the other's face and felt a fear as 
great as when he saw the monster which 
had chased them. Suddenly Van 
Shnook shook his head and his features 
became calm again. 

Cokie became aware of the intense, 
humid heat of this strange place. The 
ordeal which they had just gone through 


made his legs feel weak and lifeless. He 
decided to sit down before he fell down. 

"What was it?" he asked. 

"What was what?" Van Shnook de- 
manded. 

"That thing that chased us?" 

"Oh that. A dinosaur." 

Cokie thought: Now what the hell 
is a dinosaur? And where the hell are 
we? And how 

" — the hell did you get in the car," 
Van Shnook said, breaking in on Co- 
kie's thoughts. 

"Huh?" said Cokie. 

"I said, how did you get in the car?" 

Cokie looked down at the ground. 
Then he looked up at the cloudless sky. 
Finally, he looked to the horizon to 
either side of Van Shnook. 

"Well?" Van Shnook said. 

Cokie heaved a sigh of resignation. 
And told everything. From the begin- 
ning. 

"I'll be damned;" Van Shnook ex- 
claimed when Cokie had finished. "So 
you thought I was hunting buried treas- 
ure. Treasure buried under the pave- 
ment of a Loop street. And did you 
ever ask yourself who buried this sup- 
posed treasure or how I was going to 
get at it?" 

Cokie shook his head in bewilder- 
ment. 

"Gee, perfessor, I didn't think of 
that. But everybody said you were 
nuts, going around with that glass ball 
on a stick and making marks on the 
sidewalk. The only thing I could think 
of was buried treasure." 

"Ves, I see." Van Shnook said 
thoughtfully. "Of course they thought 
I was mad. But they would be con- 
vinced of it had I told the true object 
of my search." 

"What do you mean, perfessor?" Co- 
kie asked curiously. 

Van Shnook sat down beside Cokie 
on the running board. 


178 


AMAZING STORIES 


"What is your name, my friend?" 
he asked. 

"Sylvester Mokie," Cokie replied; 
"but everybody calls me Cokie." 

"Very well, Cokie. I am Johann Van 
Shnook. Probably the greatest scientist 
the world has ever known." 

"Ya don't say," interjected Cokie. 

"I do, Cokie. And what is more I 
have proved it.". 

"Yeah? How?" 

"By proving we can go into time." 
Cokie looked blank, at that. 

"yAN SHNOOK smiled at the ex- 
pression on Cokie's face. 
"I'll make it simple for you, Cokie," 
he said. "Time — past, present and fu- 
ture — exist simultaneously. When we 
say past, present, future, we speak in 
relative terms. Just as we do when we 
speak of size. Do you understand, 
Cokie?" 

Cokie's brow was knit in thought. 
Somehow the words held a meaning for 
him. 

"Ya mean that though we're here 
now, we're also in a car in front of 
Moe's Mansion?" 

"Well, not quite, Cokie. But per- 
haps a mile away," Van Shnook re- 
plied. 

"I don't get it, perfessor. Not all of 
it, anyway. F'r instance, where are 
we?" 

"Somehow I made a mistake," Van 
Shnook said reflectively. "My inten- 
tions were to go into the future. H'm," 
he sighed, "my hypothesis had a re- 
verse premise. As a consequence, I 
made a mistake." 

He looked around him, and turned to 
smile at Cokie. "Yes, Cokie, I made 
a mistake all right. Instead of the fu- 
ture, we are back in the past. Several 
hundred thousand years into the past. 
This Cokie." he concluded, "is what 
Chicago looked like a milleniums ago." 


"Holy smoke, Perfessor, what'll we 
do?" 

"We're here Cokie. So we'll stay 
awhile and see what's what. Get in the 
car and we'll take a ride." 

Cokie sat in bewildered silence while 
Van Shnook drove. Van Shnook com- 
mented on everything: the heavy, moist 
heat; the topography; the flora and 
fauna — everything. 

"Think of it, Cokie," he said, "we're 
the first humans of our day to see a liv- 
ing dinosaur. Perhaps we shall see a 
brontosaurus or the flying reptile known 
as the pterodactyl. Wouldn't that be 
something to remember?" 

"Look, Perfessor," Cokie said sour- 
ly, "if the rest of the animals in this 
world are like the first one we met, I 
could just as easily do without. But to 
tell ya the truth, that ain't what's both- 
ering me." 

"All right Cokie. What is bothering 
you?" 

"How do we get back?" 

"A very sensible question indeed. And 
fortunately for us, I have the answer. 
Attached to the Cosmograph behind us 
is a very delicate device. Later, when 
we want to return, I shall show you 
how to start this device. Once it is 
started it will automatically bring us 
back to our starting point." 

"That's fine, Perfessor," Cokie said 
in a tone of relief, "but let's not run out 
of gas. Or we'll never get back." 

"Even that won't matter, Cokie, as 
I can prove. But right now, we're go- 
ing to do a little exploring — on foot." 

With that, Van Shnook applied the 
brake, shut off the motor and stepped 
out. He opened the rear door and 
pulled two rifles from the rear seat. He 
handed one to the very much surprised 
Cokie, and leaning the other against the 
car, reached in and pulled out two full 
bandoliers of cartridges. 

"I didn't think I'd have a passen- 


COKIE GOES TREASURE HUNTING 


179 


ger," he said as he pulled the loaded 
bandoliers snug to his waist. "The 
other rifle was for emergency use. I 
only hope you know how to use it, 
Cokie." 

"Do I know how to use a rifle!" 
Cokie said in a voice of pride. "Why, 
I was a sharpshooter in the last war." 

"Fine, Cokie, fine. Then remember 
this: If it becomes necessary to shoot, 
aim for their eyes. They have very 
little nervous system and only a tiny 
brain. Still a bullet in that brain will 
stop them." 

Van Shnook noticed that Cokie was 
no longer listening to him. Instead, the 
little man had his head cocked to one 
side, as though he heard something in 
the distance. Van Shnook, too, as- 
sumed an air of quiet attention. Soon 
the sound which Cokie had first heard 
became clearly audible. 

"Look!" Cokie demanded, pointing 
with a finger. 

WAN SHNOOK looked in the direc- 
tion of Cokie's outstretched hand 
and saw, sailing down the wind on slow- 
flapping wings, the figure of a gigantic 
bird. Soon it was close enough for the 
two men to make out it's great beak 
with wide rows of long sharp teeth. 

Behind the first were others, until a 
full dozen of the huge creatures circled 
over their heads, hissing as though a 
thousand teakettles were set to work 
in their long leathery throats. 

"Pterodactyls," Van Shnook whis- 
pered. 

The two men, their rifles held ready, 
waited to see what would happen. Nor 
did they have long to wait. 

For with a last explosive hiss, the 
first of the flying reptiles launched it- 
self in a headlong dive at the two men. 
Van Shnook fired even as the frightful 
looking bird folded back its wings. 
Twice he fired, without effect. Then 


when it seemed that nothing could stop 
its dive, Cokie squeezed the trigger of 
his rifle. For a second Van Shnook 
thought Cokie had missed. But the rep- 
tile never came out of its dive. It 
landed heavily, flopped around once or 
twice, then lay still. Cokie, after that 
one shot, paid no heed to the reptile he 
had aimed at. His entire attention was 
taken up in watching the others. 
Whether it was the high, clanging re- 
port of the shots or something else 
which took their eyes, the two men 
never knew; but suddenly the remain- 
der of the flying reptiles flew off. 

Van Shnook walked over to the dead 
animal. A thin trickle of some sort of 
reddish-colored fluid dripped from its 
great-fanged mouth. He noticed that 
Cokie's shot had penetrated the right 
eye and being a soft-nosed bullet had 
mushroomed on contact with the rep- 
tile's bone structure. The dead body 
emitted a vile and nauseous odor which 
prevented any further examination of it. 

Van Shnook turned and walked back 
to Cokie, who was still intent on the 
fast disappearing bird-lizards. There 
was admiration and respect in his voice 
when he said: 

"Cokie, that was truly a wonderful 
shot." 

Van Shnook had to marvel at the 
change which had taken place in Cokie 
since the reptile fell. Cokie's face had, 
up till that moment, worn a fluid hang- 
dog expression. But now those loose 
weak lines had hardened and set into a 
stern mold. Even his eyes, those drug- 
doped empty orbs, had taken on a new 
measure of life and determination. It 
was in his voice too. 

"Yes, Perfessor," Cokie said quietly, 
"it was a good shot. But I told you I 
was a sharpshooter." 

"I know you did, Sylvester," Van 
Shnook replied, making a point of us- 
ing Cokie's given name, "but that was 


180 


AMAZING STORIES 


a long time ago. But you can shoot." 

Cokie 's mouth twisted up in a wry 
grin. "Yep," he said, "it was a long 
time ago. But when I brought the rifle 
to my shoulder, it seemed like yester- 
day. Listen Perfessor," he said sud- 
denly, "you said we're going exploring. 
Well let's get cuttin', before the sun 
goes down." 

Van Shnook looked up at the sun, 
just starting to slant toward the west- 
ern horizon. 

"I'd say we had another four hours 
left before sundown," he said. 

Cokie looked over his shoulder and 
nodded agreement. 

"That's about right. Now look over 
there," Cokie said, pointing to an area 
of dark green on their left. "Looks 
like forest to me. Wanta investigate?" 

Van Shnook's answer was to start off 
in the direction of the forest. Cokie 
caught up to him and they walked side 
by side. 

The forest proved to be nearer than 
they anticipated. A long low slope gave 
the perspective a misleading appear- 
ance. In an hour they reached the 
first line of trees. Here they paused 
and held a conference. 

"What do you expect to find?" Cokie 
wanted to know. 

"From what I've read of this period 
and from what we've already encoun- 
tered, I'd say that all we would find in 
there is swampland and dinosaurs," Van 
Shnook replied. 

"Say," Cokie said exasperatedly, "is 
that all there is in this world?" 

"That's about all," Van Shnook as- 
sured him. 

"Well then, let's look around for a 
while and get back to where we started 
from. And I mean Chicago. And 
after we get back home, we're going to 
go into the future, right?" 

"Right," said Van Shnook, smiling 
at Cokie. "I just want to see what it 


looks like in there. We'll go together." 

'"JpHE appearance of this forest was 
far more forbidding than any they 
had imagined. Huge moss-hung trees 
sent their trunks hundreds of feet into 
the air. Ferns, fifty feet high, made a 
matted undergrowth, difficult to walk 
through. 

After breaking through the tangled 
maze of vines and creepers, Cokie and 
Van Shnook found themselves in a huge 
glade, fully half a mile across. 

"It's as though we were in some green 
tunnel," Van Shnook observed. "Those 
branches are so thick overhead, the sun- 
light doesn't come through." 

Cokie wiped the persperation from 
his forehead. He felt as though he had 
gone swimming with his clothes on. 

"Nuts, Perfessor. It's screwy to go 
further. There's nothing else to see," 
he said. 

"You're right," Van Shnook agreed. 

They were at the edge of the under- 
brush through which they had come, 
when it happened. A half dozen lassos, 
made of woven vines, fell about their 
shoulders. Before they could recover 
from their surprise, a dozen naked men 
had leaped upon them. The lassos 
served as ropes to truss them up. Van 
Shnook and Cokie looked at their cap- 
tors with amazement. 

"Prehistoric men. but pre-dating 
even the Piltdown Man," Van Shnook 
whispered. 

So tightly had the savages trussed 
Cokie that he found it difficult to even 
turn his head to ask: 

"Who're these guys, perfessor?" 

"If my eyes weren't seeing them, I'd 
say they were impossible. Yet here 
they are, existing in an age before man 
was supposed to have existed." 

"That's fine. But what are they do- 
ing to do with us?" Cokie asked. 

Van Shnook could only shake his 


COKIE GOES TREASURE HUNTING 


181 


head to the question. He didn't know. 

But whoever they were, they seemed 
to know what they were doing. Cokie 
and Van Shnook hung across the shoul- 
ders of two men. At a signal the whole 
group set off at a slow trot toward the 
other end of the glade. In a little while 
they reached the forest at that point 
and set off, in single file, down a nar- 
row forest trail. They traveled, still 
at that slow trot, down this trail for 
quite some time. Then, when it seemed 
to the two men being carried that they 
would never stop, the trail ended. 

For a few seconds, the two captives 
thought the trail had ended permanent- 
ly — for them. From a dozen grass- 
thatched huts set in the clearing into 
which they had been brought, a horde 
of savages came pouring. And all — 
men, women and children — seemed to 
have but one idea in their minds: The 
annihiliation of Van Shnook and Cokie. 

It was only by the most brutal use 
of the clubs their captors carried that 
the village people were beaten off. Then 
the two captives were picked up again 
and carried off to one of the grass huts, 
into which they were flung. 

When Cokie had recovered his breath 
sufficiently, he let out with a string of 
expletives which would have made a 
sailor turn green with envy. 

"I'm afraid that isn't going to help 
much," Van Shnook said. 

"Yeah, I know, "Cokie said, "but I 
had to get the steam off my chest." 

Silence lay heavy between them for 
a while. Cokie broke it by asking: 

"What d'ya make of these people, 
Perfessor?" 

"They seem to be of limited intel- 
ligence," Van Shnook replied. "For in- 
stance, although they made these vine 
lassos, they apparently have never 
learned to produce fire. They have 
built these grass huts ; yet they wear no 
garments on their bodies, not even the 


fur of animals. It is obvious that they 
do things by imitation. Things which 
they have seen animals or insects do." 

"What was that about fire? I thought 
I saw a fire burning in the clearing." 

"You did Cokie. But you didn't see 
the native walk up and pick out a blaz- 
ing brand to carry to his hut. There- 
fore they know nothing of flint and 
stone." 

gUDDENLY there was the sound of 

a gunshot. Immediately afterward 
there came to their startled ears the 
sound of women screaming and men 
shouting. A half dozen of the naked 
savages burst into the hut and pro- 
strated themselves before Van Shnook 
and Cokie. 

The two looked at each other with 
wonder large in their eyes. But after 
the naked savages remained in that 
prostrate position for several moments 
Van Shnook let out a yell. 

"Get up and get these damned ropes 
off of us." 

A half dozen startled faces were lifted 
from the dirt floor and turned in their 
direction, but nothing else happened. 
Van Shnook reasoned that it was the 
first time they had ever heard anyone 
talk. And for the first time, he was 
really worried. Time was passing 
swiftly and they had to get back to the 
auto before it became too dark to find 
it. Then release came in the person of 
one who was evidently the chief. 

As short of stature as the rest, he 
appeared to be twice as broad across 
the shoulders. And although there was 
simple awe in his face, there was no fear 
there. He stepped over to each of the 
bound men and loosened the bonds. 

After stretching and rubbing cramped 
muscles, Van Shnook and Cokie fol- 
lowed the chief out into the clearing. 
The entire village had assembled and, 
as the two followed the chief, they all 


182 


AMAZING STORIES 


fell face downward into the dirt. The 
cause of all this sudden veneration was 
visibly apparent. When Van Shnook 
and Cokie had been taken captive, 
someone had brought along their rifles. 
Some native more curious than the rest 
had, in examining it, pulled the trigger. 
A dead native, his head half blown off, 
lay there before them. To these sim- 
ple minds, the gun was powerful magic. 
And since the gun belonged to the two 
captives, they were powerful magic too. 

The chief, running before the two, 
picked up the rifles and, holding one, 
handed the other to Cokie. But instead 
of handing the other to Van Shnook, 
he tried to show what had happened 
to the dead native. And before Cokie 
could stop him, he had pressed the 
trigger. 

Van Shnook was almost knocked off 
his feet by the shock of the bullet 
striking him. He felt momentary 
searing pain high in his chest, then 
heard Cokie curse as he pulled the 
trigger of his gun. The chief fell, shot 
through the head, and as he fell, the 
rest of the savages broke and raced 
for the forest. 

Cokie kneeled beside Van Shnook. 
He shook his head at what he saw. 
Van Shnook looked up at him and a 
strange, sad smile lighted his features. 

"Well, Cokie," he said weakly, 
"looks as though you will have to go 
back through Time alone." 

Then, as Cokie started to protest, 
Van Shnook weakly lifted a hand. 
. "Too late for that. There isn't 
much time. Got to talk fast. Get 
back to the car. Switch for return 
is on right side of ball. Time switch 
is on the left." 

A racking cough brought a thick 
flow of blood from his lips. Cokie 
lifted his head to ease him. 

"If you run out of gas, Cokie, glass 
ball can be operated by small batteries. 


Keep return switch on. Carry ball — 
will lead to — time — fault." 

Even as Cokie started to say he 
would never leave without him, Van 
Shnook's body went through the final 
convulsion of death. 

A strangely gentle Cokie took off 
the jacket he wore and covered the 
dead man's face. He said a simple, 
silent prayer for Van Shnook, then 
started back on the narrow trail. As 
tired as he was, he went at a trot until 
he reached the green glade. 

T"VARK shadows were already filling 
the far edges by the time he 
reached the thick border of under- 
growth. It took almost all the strength 
he possessed to tear through the thorn- 
filled creepers. But at last, exhausted 
and with trousers torn to shreds, he 
stood on the level plain again. 

The sun was almost on the horizon 
now and Cokie decided to take a chance 
on throwing the rifle away. He had dis- 
carded the heavy cartridge-laden ban- 
dolier when he started through the 
underbrush. And although he thought 
he might have a need of the rifle, it was 
too much to carry about. 

Halfway to the car, which stood out 
on the grassy plain like a sign-post 
pointing the way to home, he tripped 
over the flapping leg of his trousers. 
The pants joined the rifle and ban- 
dolier. Cokie made a strange figure 
as he trotted along in his shorts. 

Only one other place could have 
been more welcome than that broken- 
down old Ford, and that was Moe's 
Mansion. But Cokie spent very little 
time in reflection. 

He stepped on the starter and the 
motor came to life with a soul-satisfy- 
ing roar. 

Quickly he reached behind the front 
seat and pressed the return switch 
under the glass ball. Seemingly of its 


COKIE GOES TREASURE HUNTING 


183 


own volition, the steering wheel twisted 
around and the car started back. 

It was a lucky thing for Cokie that 
he was almost back to the time-fault, 
when the car ran out of gas. Remem- 
bering what the professor had told him, 
Cokie set about disconnecting the 
glass ball. It proved to be much easier 
than he thought. Although the glass 
ball and batteries were a bulky item 
to carry, the return switch still worked. 
It seemed to act like a magnet which 
set his feet to moving in a certain direc- 
tion. 

Cokie knew he had arrived at the 
time-fault when the glass ball exerted a 
terrific downward pull at his arms. 
Just as he set the Cosmograph on the 
ground he heard the remembered roar 
of a dinosaur. But this time there 
was no car to help his escape. And the 
antediluvian monster was already bear- 
ing down on him. 

Cokie pressed the time switch while 
the dinosaur, roaring with rage, its 
monstrous snout wide open in antici- 
pation, came closer and closer. 

Cokie thought the wires would never 
begin to glow and the tubes to throw 
their familiar sparks. The beast was 
only a few feet away when the haze 
formed around the glass, and with the 
sound of the time-explosion, Cokie 
heard the great gnashing sound of the 
dinosaur's mouth close in a fruitless 
search for him. 

The familiar sound of an elevated 
train brought Cokie back to conscious- 
ness. That, and a voice saying: 

"Here, you! What do you think this 
is — a bathing beach?" 

Cookie's eyes burned with a strange 
fire, and all his bones and muscles 
ached intolerably. 

He opened his tired eyes and 
looked about. 

He was seated again on the refuse 
box in front of Moe's Mansion. Be- 


fore him was the blue-clad figure of one 
of Chicago's finest. But of the glass 
ball there was no trace. 

"C'mon you," the cop said, hauling 
Cokie from the box, "I'm taking you in. 
For indecent exposure." 

Cokie looked down at his pantless 
legs and tried to explain. 

"To the judge," said the cop as he 
hauled Cokie to the call box. 

JOHN GRAHAM, the world-famous 
J archaeologist sat on the bench with 
his best friend, Judge Benson Phillips. 
Before them were Cokie and the cop. 

"There he was, Your Honor, sittin' 
on the refuse box, just the way you see 
him now," O'Malley explained. 

Judge Phillips looked at the wretched 
figure of Cokie for a few seconds. 

"Suppose you tell the court how it 
happened that you were in that condi- 
tion, when Officer O'Malley found 
you." 

Something in the kindly expression 
of the judge and the man sitting be- 
side him, made Cokie tell the whole 
story from the beginning. 

An expression of utter disbelief 
stood boldly on the judge's face when 
Cokie finished his tale. John Graham, 
however, displayed a lively interest in 
the story until Cokie reached the part 
where the natives entered the story. 
Then he shook his head sadly. 

"Man, in the time of dinosaurs," he 
murmured, "you've read the wrong 
book, my lad." 

A bailiff suddenly appeared and 
whispered into Judge Phillips ear. The 
judge looked at the bailiff question- 
ingly for a second then said: 

"Officer, search that man!" 

Malley began a systematic search of 
Cokie's vest and shirt pockets. But 
the only thing brought to light was the 
box marked, For Headaches Only. 

"Bring that box up here," the judge 


AMAZING STORIES 


commanded. "I want to see it." 

O'M alley brought the box up and, 
while Graham and the judge watched, 
the bailiff broke open one of the tablets 
as Cokie had done. 

''Sylvester Mokie," the judge said, his 
voice stern, "you are an addict to a 
vicious habit. It is the opinion of this 
court that you are no longer in a condi- 
tion to " 

"Wait, Benson," John Graham broke 
in. "Officer, will you bring that leaf, 
which fell out of the prisoner's pocket, 
up here." 



BERKELEY LIVINGSTON 


THE fairy tales of my childhood and the 
stories of Mcrriwcll and kindred heroes of 
my youth set my fancy free. In my mind, 
were always evolving newer and better vehicles 
for their deeds. But 1 am anticipating. 

I was born in Chicago, November 26, 190S. An 
incident occurred during my high school years 


O'Malley picked up the bit of fern 
which lay on the floor near Cokie's feet 
and brought it up for Graham's in- 
spection. 

Graham's eyes went wide in wonder 
as he looked at the bit of greenery in 
his palm. 

"Benson," he said at last, "will you 
remand the prisoner to my custody?" 

"Of course, John." Judge Phillips 
said, "but why?" 

"Because." replied John Graham, 
"this bit of fern was supposed to have 
died a half million years ago!" 


which put my feet on the writing path. Ben 
Hecht's and Charles Mac Arthur's play ''The Front 
Page" was running in a Loop playhouse. I played 
hookey one afternoon and went down to the Loop 
with the most honorable intentions. 1 was going 
to do research at the Public Library. It was cer- 
tainly no fault of mine that my feet led me to 
the lobby of that theatre. To my surprise I 
found, after paying the required price, that I had 
acquired a seat to "The Front Page.'' 

So impressed did I become with HUdy John- 
son, the central character in the play, that I re- 
solved to become a reporter. Well, there are 
various ways of doing that. 1 went to a midwest 
university school of journalism for two years be- 
fore I discovered that could be the wrong way. 
It was during my sophomore year that f made 
the horrible discovery that perhaps the path of 
journalism would never be trod upon by my 
feet. 

It was a chance remark of s professor of a 
certain course that I was taking that sent me out 
into the world without a college degree, lie 
stood up in class one day and said, "Students (no, 
it wasn't Kay Kyser), there lias arrived a period 
in your course when I find it necessary to bring 
a certain truth to your attention: that whatever 
success you may have in your career will depend 
upon the amount of labor you put into it- par- 
ticularly the career all of you here have chosen . . . 
writing . . . because yours will be a lab»r of the 
brain. And let me assure you that thinking can 
be much more difficult than anything else." 

Somehow I lost my taite for journalism as of 
that moment. I had always been under the im- 
pression that reporters led a life of win:, women 
and song. Now I was being told that they also 
worked! 



AMAZING STORIES 


185 


The next several years of my life were spent 
in a succession of "got a job — lost a job." In 
1036 I met a friend of mine in San Francisco 
whom I hadn't seen in a number of years. He 
had been working as a research man for a large 
chemical manufacturer. But something had come 
up which made him leave the position he had 
held. We sat in a fishy water-front grotto talk- 
ing over old days in Chicago, when a remark 
cut through the smuky air of that dive which 
led to the most serious undertaking of my life. 
It led, in fact, to my becoming a writer. One 
of us said: "And do you remember how we used 
to invent fantasies of South Sea life?" We looked 
al each other wordlessly. I pulled out my bank 
book and saw that i had saved up the goodly 


sum of $800.00. Within two weeks we were on 
our way to Hawaii, the first step in a South Sea 
tour which took two years. Two years spent 
in paradise. 

But $800.00 did not last forever. And so I found 
myself back in San Francisco, enriched in spirit 
and knowledge, but poor in purse. 

Walking past a newsstand one day I picked up 
a magazine called South Sea Stories— and the great 
adventure began. I had Uved there, knew the 
native life, knew all there was to be known about 
it. I decided then and there to do a story based 
upon an incident I had seen take place in Samoa. 
I sent it off to the editors of that magazine and 
in a short while received a check. My first story 
and my first check. — Berkeley Livingston. 


PHILATELIC "TREASURE 


POSTAL envelopes which may become one of 
the greatest philatelic prizes of the war, will 
soon reach the outside world from Merauke, 
capital of that part of Dutch New Guinea which 
has remained free from Japanese invasion. 

Netherlands East Indies postal authorities in 
Merauke have been so overwhelmed with letters 
mailed by Allied soldiers that their supply of 


stamps has been completely exhausted. For the 
duration, a rubber stamp has been devised to 
substitute for the regular postage stamps. The 
rubber stamp impression in Dutch and English, 
respectively, reads '•Frankeering Betaald" and the 
translation into English, "Postage Paid." The en- 
velopes will bear the regular Merauke date stamp. 


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IDELY SCATTERED RACES OF MAN HAVE 
A STARTLING SIMILARITY OF STORIES 
ABOUT THE DRAGON; USING IT AS AN IMAGE 
ON THE PROW OF SHIPS; AS AN EVIL SEA MON- 
STER; AS A TOTEM. DOES THIS MEAN THAT 
" IS THE SAME FOR ALL? 



J^EGEND SAYS THE AMAZONS, 


THOSE WARRIOR WOMEN 
OF SOUTH AMERICA, CROSSED 
yf. THE ATLANTIC AFTER THEIR DE- 

'Vi ' FEATfiY THE LYBIAN MONARCH, 

/, HERAKLES, TO ESTABLISH A NEW 
- i / 1 EMPIRE FOR THEMSELVES IN THE 
v MATTO GROSSO JUNGLES 


186 


TRACKING DOWN THE DRAGON 

By L. TAYLOR HANSEN 

What is the answer to the mystery of the 
worldwide use of the dragon as a totem? 


ACROSS the foik- memories (for that is what 
legends are)— across the folk -memories 
- of five continents has fallen the symbol 
of an ancient colossus, the shadow of a dreaded 
sea-power whose symbol lives on after the king- 
dom which fostered it has passed from the 
knowledge of living men— The Giant Dragon. Is 
there any connection between the stories of old 
Europe which regarded The Dragon as an evil 
sea-monster, although they placed bis image upon 
the prow of their ships; the mysterious tciled 
Tuaraks of Northern Afric-a who regard the sym- 
bol as their Totem; many of the Indian tribes of 
both Americas who have the same reverence; and 
the similar regard of vast hordes in Asia? Was it 
a power of Asia, the Americas or Northern Africa? 
Those are the people who today stifl bold it in 
the greatest reverence- And yet when we glance 
at their racial types, what a shock is in store for 
us! At one end of the scale is the long-headed, 
long-faced Tuarak, who among his Berber kins- 
men is placed in the extreme end of the loag-head 
scale. In the Americas the type is greatly mixed 
and blends to the round-head as we go toward 
the Aleutians, until in Asia we find the true 
round-head with his extremely straight hair, still 
regarding The Dragon as his ancient Totem ! 

If anything is to be made of this puzzle, we must 
seek for the answer in the Americas. Here at least 
we may be able to discover whether The Dragon 
invaded the land from (he Atlantic or the Pacific. 

Perhaps our first discovery is that although 
The Dragon is always regarded as connected with 
water, yet it is not always looked upon as a deity 
whose realm is good and whose occupations are 
above the suspicion of mischief. Indeed on the 
contrary, thare are many tribes who look upon 
it as an evil spirit. Such is fhe belief of the Tara- 
humaras of the highlands of Northern Mexico, 
who today, far away from the path of the tour- 
ist or the traveller, hold intricate ceremonies 
for the redemption and final cure of the child 
whose soul has been swallowed by the Great 
Dragon "Walula" who lives in the whirlpools 
of the rivers and who is very easily offended!' 

Among the Indians of New Mexico, the Great 
Dragon, who is called "Awanyu" lives in the 


waters of caverns— particularly underground 
rivers, and again is fond of snatching away chil- 
dren, while in the far-away Amazon, the 
Waikanos like to live near their guardian "Waku," 
the Great Dragon, who lives in the whirlpools 
of the river. He also has the bad habit of some- 
times snatching away little children ! Yet even 
in China where the Totem is beneficent, he is 
said to carry little children away to Heaven upon 
his back. What is this curious connection be- 
tween the old symbol, water, and the ever- 
preseit danger to little children? Let us see 
if we can trace the American legends to a center, 
for only in this way can we tell from which 
direction the Dragon Totem invaded the Amer- 
icas. And later, perhaps, we shall stumble upon 
the connection of the Totem with childhood. 


OW the oustanding symbols which flash to 


N 

our mind are the great stone serpents with 
ruffs of quetzal 2 plumes which adorn so many 
of the ruins of Mexico. The Great-Piumed- 
Serpcnt of the Aztecs was Quetzalcoatl. 3 But 
according to the literature of the Aztecs in the 
"Song of Quetzalcoatl" recently translated from 
the ancient tongue into English by Cornyn, 4 
the Plumed Serpent is really a Toltec deity. The 
Toltecs were under the influence of a saint-like 
bearded white man who strongly opposed human 
sacrifice. Among the Mayas, we see tbe influ- 
ence of this same figure whose Christ-like relig- 
ion was overcome by another bearded white man 
who re-instated human sacrifice. Is it possible 
to go behind the establishment of this humane 
religion in which only fruits and flowers were 
sacrificed? The very fact that they were sacri- 


1 The Tatahumara by Bennett 1935. 

2 Quetzal — a sacred bird of Central Am. hav- 
ing long irridescenl green feathers which were 
worn by royalty. 

3 Quetzalcoatl — Quetzalserpent. literal trans. 

4 Cornyn, John Hubert prof, of Azttc, Univ. 

of Mexico. 


188 


AMAZING STORIES 


ficed by the early Mayas suggests that the saint- 
like reformer substituted them for the earlier 
and bloodier sacrifices. 

Again the Popul-Vuh, that strange legendary 
history which arose sphynx-like from the burn- 
ing of the Mayan books because a literary 
Mayan had learned it by heart, comes as a 
ghostly guide-post to point the way. Accord- 
ing to the Popul-Vuh, the earliest settlers who 
had followed the lead of Votan to the shores 
of Yucatan, and had built the magnificent, legend- 
ary city of Xibalba, belonged to the Totem of 
the Great Serpent, and their religion was a 
cruel one filled with the blood of human sacri- 
fice. This religion was overcome by the inva- 
sion of Hurukane, the wind-god, who established 
a much more humane religion, and who was 
known as the "Heart of Heaven." Now this 
"Hurukane'' has so many resemblances to Quet- 
zalcoatl the pre-Aztec deity, that the conquerors 
of the long-established religion of Votan in 
Xibalba, seem to be the Toltecs of Mexico. Thus 
the Totem we are trying to trace seems to be 
previous to the Toltec Empire, which after reign- 
ing for untold centuries in the magnificent capi- 
tol of Tula 5 was finally overthrown by the in- 
vading Aztecs who re-established the custom of 
human sacrifice. 

Knowing the propensity, therefore, for the 
conquering religion to take over the mantle and 
the customs of the previous religion, it seems 
most probable that the Toltecs gave their humane 
wind-god the mantle of the conquered Great Ser- 
pent, and since sacrifices had been expected by 
the population from aeons of bloody ritual, the 
empty altars were filled with fruits and flowers. 
Apparently then, Quetzalcoatl was not the true 
original Serpent-deity, but an invading god mas- 
querading in the glittering scales of the dreaded 
Dragon. Thus religion seems to be pointing to 
a very early conquest or clash of two cultures, 
long before the coming of the Aztecs. 

Attacking our problem from another angle, let 
us examine the languages of the peoples having 
the greatest amount of Serpent legend. To our 
surprise, we find that science is classifying the 
entire block of tongues from the Aztec to the 
Mayan under one vast inter-branching family 
known as the Uto-Aztecan. The family even 
extends to the Canadian border, as it takes in not 
only the Utes and Shoshones but the northern 
Bannocks. Even the Tanoan and the mysterious 
Keresian tongues are coming into the circle of 
suspected relationship. One wonders if language 
alone as an indication of racial origin, has ever 
faced such a complete breakdown, for it is per- 
fectly obvious that the lean, long-faced and long- 
headed Tanoan, Keresian and Zapotec have little 
in common with the heavier-set, darker and 
round-headed Shoshonean. Yet intruded into the 
round-headed types of Northern Mexico again, 
is that finger of long-heads which extends into 

* See "Song of Quetzalcoatl." 


the inhospitable lands of Lower California — the 
wild Seri Tribe! And among the Seri looms the 
strong cult of the Great Dragon with the sus- 
picion of bloody child-sacrifice ! 

If language has fallen down in this instance 
in proving a diversity of racial origin when both 
physical type and religion point to an ancient 
conquest, it certainly fulfills its mission as a 
time-indicator. If one tongue conquered another 
so completely that the conqueror became the 
universal language, or the two opposite tongues 
were blended, even as English arose from a 
clash of speeches, and that universal tongue in 
turn was diversified by time and distance into 
the present members of the Uto-Aztecan family, 
then we are indeed dealing with vast vistas of 
time. We are inclined to think of the great Aryan 
family of Europe as widely diversified in its 
branches which reach from the steppes of Russia 
to Spain, and from Norway to Armenia. How- 
ever, these languages are apparently not as wide- 
ly divided as the various members of the Uto- 
Aztecan tree. No wonder that Piny E. Goddard, 
writing for the American Anthropologist 6 , finds 
that the main stocks of Indian tongues show a 
separation of one hundred thousand years! 

TN DEALING with such vast vistas of time, 
^ during which cultural threads have crossed 
and re-crossed, it is obviously difficult to trace 
out a lost civilization, still there are strong clues. 
For example, both the Tanoan 7 and Keresian 8 
peoples who show a Serpent or Dragon culture, 
even as the Zapotec a , Zuni and Seri tribes, to 
mention only a few others, are long-headed peo- 
ples who have lived for centuries in isolation. 
They are obviously an old racial strain, for they 
are to be found islanded, as it were, in geograph- 
ical fortifications, of either desert or mountain- 
range. 

Of course, it is also true that the Shoshonean 
Hopis of Arizona show a similar Serpent cul- 
ture and geographical isolation, yet according 
to their legends, they have come north within 
the last two thousand years as refugees who 
were driven from their cities by a conquering 
people. Possibly they were Toltec refugees flee- 
ing from the Aztec advance. At any rate, their 
rituals have lost all racial characteristics and 
seem to be in the hands of secret societies, to 
which, theoretically, any man may join. 

Now these long-headed peoples, who have 
(Continued on page 207) 


^American Anthropologist Vol. 29, No. 2. April, 
1927. 

T Tanoan— mainly Taos Pueblo New Mex. 
Keresian— 7 Neiv Mex. Pueblos in Rio Grande 
Basin. 

8 Zapotec in mountains near Milla Mex. 
» Zuni in Navahb country. 


DISCUSSIONS 
Q9Eiiy. BiaiiiiQKsaeiiosii: 

★ A mazing Stories will publish in each issue a selection of letters from readers. 
Everybody is welcome to contribute. Bouquets and brickbats will have 
an equal chance. Inter-reader correspondence and controversy will be encour- 
aged through this department. Get in with the gang and have your say- 


HIS BEST STORY 

Sirs: 

Yesterday I read what I consider the best story 
[ have yet read. The story was "Mystery Moon," 
written by Edmond Hamilton in the Jan. Issue, 
194-1. 

When will we have a return story about Eric 
Randall? Also, when will we have a story about 
Suicide Marlrin Brand? 

E. Haoen Garrett, 
5302 N. 10th St., 
Arlington, Va. 

A new Eric Randall story is up to Edmond 
Hamilton. If he will write it . . . we'll very prob- 
ably buy it. As for Suicide Merlin Brand, we've 
already mentioned a new one is en tiie way, and 
wil reach you certainly before many months have 
passed.— Ed. 


WHERE IS McCAULEY? 

Sirs: 

I have been reading Amazing Stories and Fan- 
tastic Adventures for about two years so I think 
it is about time I put in my two cents' worth. I 
like most of the stories very much except for the 
Lefty Fecp and the Don Hargreaves yarns. Per- 
sonally I think they stink. The best story I have 
read in either mag was the two-part serial "Gods 
of the Jungle," by Nelson S. Bond in June- July, 
1942. 

The be?t department you have in Amazing 
Stories is the Scientific Mysteries. I get more 
enjoyment out of it than any o-f the rest. The 
best cover artist, I believe, is the guy that draws 
the Mac girls. By the way, what has become of 
him anyway? 

Harold C. Bullard, 
Whitmorc, S. C. 

//. W. McCauley called on us the other day and 
told us the good news that he was working on a 
new cover for us. You'll sec it one of these 
months, we prsmise. — Ep. 


AMAZING STORIES' PREDICTIONS 

Sirs: 

The other day while wading through a pile of 
old magazines I came across something that 
astounded me. It was a weather-beaten copy of 


Amazinc Stories featuring a novel by McGivern, 
entitled "Convoy to Atlantis." Having nothing 
special to do, I began reading the yarn. After a 
while the bored expression on my horrifying pan 
was replaced by one of awe and bewilderment. 
Get a load of some of the predictions made in 
that story : Axis forces would attack America late 
in 1941, the Allies would gain control of Africa, 
Russian armies would slowly drive back the Nazis, 
unconquered countries would begin to revolt, 
U.S. and British forces would invade Europe from 
the Mediterranean— all those things are stale news 
to us now. But the date of the issue was Novem- 
ber 1941! Imagine it! Amazinc Stories actually 
predicted this war and all about it a month before 
it began! Who said that science-fiction could 
never come true? By the way, McGivern makes 
several predictions for the future : Japan will give 
up before Germany, Hitler's armies will surrender 
and the war will come to an end with the assassi- 
nation of Hitler by Goebbels! 

If any reader has a copy ef the story on hand, 
I urge him to haul it out and read it again. It'll 
scare heck out of ya! 

Most incredible of all is the item in the editor's 
column announcing "Convoy to Atlantis." Quote : 
"If it comes true to any extent, don't say we 
didn't tell you. ... We have a bunch that author 
McGivern and ourselves, via footnotes, have seen 
something of the future that we'd almost be will- 
ing to admit came to us via a time machine." 
Hmmmmmm! Would you be interested in selling 
that time machine, Mr. Editor? 

Slightly less sensational is McGivern's "Mad 
Robot" tale in this issue. Good night I Why must 
we always get these gosh-awful surprise endings? 
I thought Ho Agar was the only likable character 
in the whole novelet. Of course, he turns out to 
be a vile villain in the end! I'm getting a little 
bored with all these courageous heroes — every one 
exactly like all the others. Are they poured out 
of the same mold? Why must each hero be either 
a drunkard or a saint? 

The cover was pretty good except for one mis- 
take. According to the author, each robot re- 
quires a section of brain tissue only a half inch 
square. The cover depicts a robot with a brain 
the size cf a watermelon. 

Best interior pic was Ronald Clyne's for "Mas- 
ter of the Living Dead." 


190 


AMAZING STORIES 


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At last! Amazing has a letter department that 
is a letter department! Walter Terrill may have 
been 200% wrong, but we'll never be able to 
repay him for all the terrific argument he started. 
And this discussion of escape velocity is wonder- 
ful! I'd join it if I wasn't so ignorant. To heck 
with these characters who pick everything the 
editor says into tiny pieces. Never knew that 
trimmed edges cause a lack of paper. I see we're 
doing away with those little one-inch-long com- 
muniques that do no more than list the stories. 
Fine! A. S. is improving its Discussions column. 

Why are you so opposed to reprints? The 
older S-F stories have a certain vastness— a sense 
of wonder at the unknown — the indefinable IT 
that the highly-polished newer yarns lack entirely. 
I am still waiting for Merritt's "Ship of Ishtar." 

Joe Kennedy, 
R4 Baker Ave., 
Dover, N. J. 

Yes, the instances you have noted are just a 
very few of the things Amazing Stories has 
prophesied with a more than " mathematical Im- 
possible" accuracy. We believe this is one of the 
fascinations of science fiction. Glad to know yen 
approve of Discussions in its new vigor. We are 
as amazed and delighted as you are. We are not 
opposed to reprints. Our principal objection is 
two-fold, first we want to be fair to today's 
writers who should have as much opportunity as 
past writers to do their bit and we feel that the 
reader cannot possibly be cheated if he is pre- 
sented all new material; next, we find that a lot 
of the old stories suffer from comparison when 
lighted by the lamp of scrutiny rather than the 
flame of memory. We admit many are very good, 
we may someday (when the. war is over) publish 
an Annual containing a selection of all-time Amaz- 
ing classics. — Ed. 

FACTS WITHOUT FICTION 

Sirs: 

So Karl Bouvier, Jr., doesn't want science-fic- 
tion that contradicts facts? (See Discussions, AS, 
January, 1944.) 

No space ships — because no one has yet suc- 
ceeded in projecting an object beyond Earth's 
gravity. No robots — because science has not yet 
developed a mechanical equivalent of the human 
brain. Eliminate the death-rays and paralysis- 
pistols (which, I admit, might improve a good 
many tales). If that's the kind of story he wants, 
why doesn't he read something inspiring like 
''Bright Little Tales for Good Little Boys"? 

The essence of science-fiction is IF. What 
would happen IF a being from space landed on 
earth? What IF a time-travel machine were de- 
veloped before the war ends? A well-plotted and 
well-written tale along these lines gives the reader 
that shuddery feeling— "It COULD happen !" 

Just because Karl has never seen or heard of 
one is no sign that a green-scaled, many- ten tacled 


AMAZING STORIES 


191 


Venusian can't materiahze in front of him ten 
minutes from now. 

Let's turn to a more cheerful topic — your Janu- 
ary issue. It's the best since December, 1942, and 
"Warrior of the Dawn." For once ALL the yarns 
were swell — not a single hack-piece to drag down 
the magazine! "Master of the Living Dead'' was 
tops on my list, but I'm stuck with a five-way tie 
for second place ! 

Could you give me any information on where 
to obtain back issues of Amazing — 1Q42 and ear- 
lier? One of my greatest sorrows is that I didn't 
discover AS until a year ago. Think of what I 
missed! 

Arthur H. Rapp, 
2120 Bay Street, 
Saginaw, Michigan. 

We don't think anybody will disagree with you 
about the "facts" in our fiction. Back copies of 
very many issues as far back as 1938 can be pro- 
cured by ordering from our circulation depart- 
ment. Specify tin; copies you want, and you will 
be informed if they are available, and a! what 
price.- — Ed. 


SOME FASCINATING OPINIONS 


Si;' 


Your January issue was excellent. I would espe- 
cially like to see more of these fascinating Adam 
Link stories, as soon as fortune permits. Occa- 
sionally a letter from one of your readers amazes 
me in its short-sightedness. Space travel in a 
thousand years? Tt is my firm conviction that 
the next fifty years will see the space between 
planets at last being bridged. In fact, I will go 
so far as to say that this same length of time 
will see robots in common use ! If any of my 
beloved fellow readers doubt the extent of veracity 
of these claims, I would like them to remember 
the vast strides science has made in the past 
decades. 1 certainly think you ought to start ad- 
vancing science-fiction, — reality is catching up! 
Take those rocket planes, for instance, the Ger- 
mans are now using. (Stolen from the really ad- 
vanced science of the Reds, while still calling 
them "subhuman" and "inferior" — some laugh, 
eh?) So you see, we're already on the track. 

But don't get me wrong— I don't want MORE 
space stories, — in fact, [ coukl stand a little less. 
I was just correcting a flaw in a section of your 
readers' opinion. My own favorite S.F. theme, 
is a hero of our present age in a fantastic set-up. 
Down with that "Snodgrass and the Remarkable 
Monkeys of Pluto" type. Who the devil cares 
about the latest news from the Cat star or some- 
thing of that sort. I'm getting pretty fed up with 
that type of stuff, and I think the rest of your 
readers feel the same way. (Or do they?— some- 
thing to discuss.) While on the other hand, when 
one reads of an everyday young fellow involved 
(either humorously or dramatically) with a fan- 
tastic scientific gadget, — or in a fantastic situa- 
tion, right here on good old twentieth century 



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Earth, one's interest is instantly aroused. Why? 
Because the whole plot just MIGHT possibly hap- 
pen—and to you; and the plot stands out like 
murder in a tea garden. I don't believe any of 
my fellow readers would be so optimistic as to 
believe that he may some day be involved in inter- 
galaxy clashes! 

There also appears to be a foul conspiracy to 
keep away from war stories. (No doubt the 
sinister work of some foul smelling fish Venusian !) 
By Mars! I revolt against such a course! Say I: 
More war stories. After all, in real life we can 
only kill Hitler and Tojo once— but in fiction, 
a-ah ! — we can do it over and over again ! An 
inspiration has just hit me, — just this second! 
How's this, for one heck of an idea . . . Have 
one (or all!) of your top-flight authors write a 
super all-out war story, and at the climax, have 
the hero about to send one of the above vermin 
to you know where; BUT— leave off there, with- 
out giving the delightful conclusion of how our 
hero went about disposing of the son of Heaven 
or Der Fuehrer. In order to have the author fin- 
ish the climax, we readers will have to fill out a 
quota of War Bonds, bought directly from 
Amazing Stories! Knowing S.F. fans as I do 
(and I ought to,— I've been living with myself 
for 16 years), I am positive the response will be 
absolutely inter-spacial ! Who wouldn't like to see 
that finish? 

What is the cost and where can I get that 
pocket-book of classics you mention in your last 
issue? 

Spencer G. Boyle, 
(No address). 

Your letter is very interesting, and we think 
you are- not too far off in your beliejs. Certainly 
your opinion of good science fiction is a very 
good analysis of the case. We'll think about your 
suggestions regarding a super war story. At least, 
we. promise you there'll be many good war stories 
in our pages. "The Pocketbook of Science Fic- 
tion" might be obtained from some reader who 
sees this and has a copy for sale. We know no 
other way of getting it, sitae it was published 
some time ago and would no longer be on sale. 
—Ed. 

MORE ABOUT ATOMIC POWER 

Sirs: 

In this letter I am referring to the one of Keith 
Buchanan. In his letter he stated that only IF 
enough fuel could be carried by a rocket-ship it 
would be able to attain space. Well, this brings 
up the subject of atomics. An atomic fuel would 
be compact enough to store in a foot -square con- 
tainer, for the fuel would have the benefit of the 
smallness of the atom. In releasing the power 
of one atom a ship could be driven to the moon 
and further. With atomic fuel there would be 
no exhaust to have move backward. Also, he 
stated: "Someday if we get atomic-powered rock- 
ets we can forget all about escape velocity, but 


AMAZING STORIES 


10:3 


it's going to Lake some doing before we get those 
super-fuels." All I have to say for that is: (1) 
We would not forget, about escape velocity, be- 
cause the power of the explosion, of the atom, 
might and might not give the needed power. This 
contradicts my other statements, but in a way 
they are right, the power of a single atom could 
take a ship to the moon, BUT a '-toned-down" 
atom might not give the correct speed. The un- 
touched atom would kill the humans in the ship 
because of the terrific jolt at the start of the 
explosion, thus a "toned-down" atom would be 
needed. (2) We could work, on atomic fuels right 
after the war because of the rapid advances in 
atomics during the war. Possibly some people are 
working on it now. 

Geobge R. Lewis, 
7010 Brutus St., 
Houston, Texas, 

Personally we think you are making a few as- 
sumptions that are exactly thai. First, that the 
power in one atom could take a ship to the moon. 
As a matter of fact, we don't know how much ! 
p9wer an atom has. It has been estimated mathe- 
matically by scientists, who base their estimates 
on scientific laws; but no matter if that is their 
figure, extracting 100% of energy from any 
power-source fuel is expecting quite a bit, even 
from the atom. At present, ordinary gasoline gives 
up only a very small percentage of its potential 
combustively-released energy. Next, why do you 
say we. would have no cxlmust with atomic fuel? 
Energy, to be effective, must expend itself against 
or in something. As a matter of fact, the pres- 
ently proposed atomic energy (11-235) would not 
be the, energy of the atom, but more likely of 
steam, generated from ordinary water released 
into the "cylinder" in which Ike TJ-235 acts as a 
catalyst (just as the spark plug fires gasoline 
vapor in the cylinder head of an automobile mo- 
tor). But we do agree that some "toned-down" 
method (more likely because that will be the limit 
of our ability to efficiently remove the power of 
the atom) will hold true, and that human travel 
in space will still have to contend with the reac- 
tion to swift motion, swiftly applied. — Ed. 

FIVE YEARS OF SATISFACTION 

Sirs: 

I have been reading Amazing Stories now for 
s years. All the issues have tilled my imagination 
with delight. The ''Adam Link" and ''Lost 
World" stories were, in my estimation the pride 
and joy of your magazine. If you could print a 
full magazine dedicated to these two stones 1 
think that they will go quickly. They were about 
the best stories that Amazing ever had. I am 
practical in my thinking and views, but stories 
like these relax my mind and take me on trips to 
faraway plates. This is the first time I have 
written to you. If this were printed I would feel 
mighty gkd, but I guess you have more letters 
to handle which beat mine by a mile, so I don't 
mind, just as long as you know how I feel. I ex- 



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pect to be in the army or navy soon and I will 
continue to be your most ardent fan. I just fin- 
ished reading your January issue. It is pretty 
good. Wish there was more. 

Jerry Schreiber, 
(No address). 

Thanks for your nice compliments. We hope 
you'll be with us five years from now! — Ed. 


A REPLY TO LANE FIELD 

Sirs: 

I have just finished your January issue. And 
I want to say right here that Mr. Ross Rocklynne 
is one of the best stf. authors I have ever come 
across. I have read his stuff in every magazine 
I could find, and can't heap enough praise on him. 
(By the way, what happened to L. Sprague De- 
Camp?) 

As for the feature, "The Mad Robot," I didn't 
care for it much, nor the rest of the mag. Oh, 
for the good old days, when we used to have a 
nice, long, hazardous interstellar voyage, or a 
super ray drive, or a short jaunt through a fourth- 
dimensional space warp, and a space battle, with 
some of the details of astral-navigation. 

What really started me off was not so pleasant 
as this bouquet-throwing. It ail started like this. 
In a good, clean, lightheaded frame of mind, I 
started to read the "Discussions," when I came to 
that utterly sickening, completely juvenile expres- 
sion of opinion on page 196. I refer to that oh-so- 
condescending, polite note by "Sir Nelson Lane- 
field III." I am not usually one to start battles, 
but a minus epic such as his is too, too much. If 
the sight of a he-man in his ba re-chest edness dis- 
gusts and shocks Mr. Lanefield, III, so much, 
perhaps he had better go put on that pretty, new 
dinner-jacket, because I think I hear the butler 
calling "Dinnah is served." Come, come, Mr. 
Lanefield, if you must lower yourself so much 
as to read our "A.S.," you could at least come out 
of the clouds and realize that a man does not 
bother to change his clothes fourteen times a day 
when in the normal walks of life. 

I dislike to clutter up the colums of "Discus- 
sions" with an epistle such as this, but, as I said, 
I have no recourse, since Mr. Lanefield neglected 
to give his address. (By the way, Mr. Lanefield, 
if you are under 16, aliow me to apologize for 
my rudeness.) 

That is all, gentlemen, I thank you for your 
kind attention, and challenge Mr. Lanefield to 
answer this soldier. 

By the way, I hope you remember your little 
message about "inter-reader controversies" and 
publish this. 

Pvt. Robert S. Sorenson, 
Military Secret, 
U. S. A. 


Addrew 


(SPECIAL) If you are aboard bMb or ouUids the 

V. S. A. please send money order for 12.15. 


L. Sprague DeCamp, we believe, is in the serv- 
ices of his Uncle Scm.—Ev. 


AMAZING STORIES 


195 


CONGRATULATIONS TO REED 

Sirs: 

Just finished David V. Reed's "Empire of 
Jegga" and consider it to be one of the best 
pieces of work I've ever had the pleasure of read- 
ing in a science fiction magazine-. 

Congratulations on publishing it and give my 
congratulatons to author Reed. 

Walter O. Miles, 
530 West 6th St., 
Los Angeles, Calif. 

Undoubtedly Mr. Reed will be delighted to 
know how much you liked his splendid novel. 
Watch for his next in the issue immediately fol- 
lowing this one! — Ed. 

REJUVENATION! 

Sirs : 

Rejuvenated ! 

That's the word for the January Amazing — a 
whale of an issue to get the publishing new year 
off to a bang-up start ! I have my doubts about 
whether you can keep it up or not — as you men- 
tioned in "The Observatory," most of the authors 
represented are not at present available for more 
materia!. But we long suffering readers can hope. 
And with St. John, Bloch and Irwin on call for 
next issue— who knows! 

I only entreat Allah that Irwin does not descend 
to writing corn classics like Patton did with "War 
Worker 17." Both authors got a whale of a start 
—Patton with "The Test Tube Girl" and the 
super "Doorway to Hell;" Irwin with "The 
Vengeance of Martin Brand." Let's hope that Ir- 
win keeps faith with his followers. Time will tell. 

But enuf of this— yours truly now proceeds 
to the mildly sensational January AS. There were 
no "C" stones this trip; all stories are in either 
the "A" or high "B" bracket. Congratulations! 
And if you're interested, they come out this way : 

A: 

1. "Intruders from the Stars," by Ross Rock- 
lynne. And here, like a bolt out of the blue, we 
have a minor classic, no less! Ross created some 
unforgettable characters and an unforgettable 
story in this yarn. And the love interest was adult 
and real-— bravo ! I was getting rather fond of 
Bess-Istra myself there at the end ! 

2. "The Mad Robot," by Willjam P. McGiv- 
ern. Some nice atmosphere in thi3 one. 1 think 
this story is far closer to a scientific detective 
story than was "Carbon-Copy Killer," though Ho 
Agar, aside from being a Martian — the guy from 
Mars always is a dirty bum underneath it all — 
was rather transparent from the beginning. But 
'twas a darned good talc anyhow — attractively il- 
lustrated on the cover by Mr. Bobby Fuqua. 

3. "Phantom City of Luna," by P. F. Costello. 
Just barely slipped in under the wire in the "A" 
division. It was a bit too conventional in han- 
dling, but with a nice idea behind it. But no liv- 
ing soul can say that the tale wasn't interesting — 



fay PHYLLIS A. 

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and that in itself puts it a shade above the "B'' 
department. 
B: 

4. "Island of Eternal Storm," by Berkeley Liv- 
ingston. Just as the Coslello yarn barely made 
the "A" division, this one just missed it. Nicely 
done. 

5. "Master of the Living Dead," by Ed Karl 
Repp. Good in spots, mediocre in others. Ed can 
do better than this. 

6. "The Needle Points (o Death," by Gerald 
Vance. Not at all bad, and it missed the "C" de- 
partment by a comfortable margin. 

Thoughts of a Nonentity: The back cover is 
too violent for tiie purpose for which it is in- 
tended—you don't sell your magazines by means 
of the back; it's always on the stands right side 
up . . . and since when, dear editor, is the Moon 
a star? ... try to keep the reader's pages about 
at their present size . . . L. Taylor Hansen's "Sci- 
entific Mysteries" is always excellent . . . what 
say we go out in space more often in AS? 

Chad Oliver, 
3956 Lcdgewood, 
Cincinnati, Ohio. 

We didn't intend to infer thai the Moon was a 
star. In that particular series, "Stories of the 
Stars," we may venture anywhere in the Universe 
for one of our paintings or stories. It was in that 
sense that we included a Moon story and paint- 
ing. We. certainly will go out into space again — 
very soon. Next issue, in fact. And Irwin's new 
story is a crackerjack space story. — Ed. 

A MATTER OF SIZE 

Sirs : 

It puzzles me indeed, what in the name of Ein- 
stein and relativity gives that eminent writer, 
Morris J. Steele, the mysterious reason to figure 
out that the Martians of mournful memory (of 
3 million years ago) were ten feet high? That's, 
by the way, what he informs us in his awfully 
interesting and scientific essay about the "Warship 
of Mars" in your splendid July number. 

We, the Earthians. are— let's say— 6 feet. As 
that neighbor of our planet. Mars, is about 2/3 
the size of our own, would it not be reasonable 
to suppose that its inhabitants were proportion- 
ally smaller, instead of bigger, namely something 
like 4 feet pygmies? But, of course, I'm not 
posted on mathematic problems 25 million miles 
out in space. 

E. L. Mkngohoel, 
1918 E. Franklin Ave., 
Minneapolis, Minn. 

Let us assume, for the sake of argument, that 
the giraffe is the. form of life that inhabits Earth. 
Then would the Martian's size be okay? Life 
forms on all planets (where they exist ) range from 
microscopic creatures to huge monsters, suck as 
I the dinosaurs. What has the mass of the planet 
I got to do with it? We'd say Steele was abso- 
I lately right, to the fraction of an inch, when he 
j says the Martian is ten feet tall. At least we 


AMAZINS STORIES 


197 


mould have to say that if using your logic; be- 
cause as a matter of fact, lesser gravity wotdd 
reasonably tend to producing taller living crea- 
tures. — Ed. 

MORE REVERENCE 

Sirs: 

I have just finished reading the Amazing for 
January and wish to compliment you on the story 
"Intruders from the Stars." Why can't we have 
more like this? I don't just mean on one angle, 
but with more God in them and less of this bunk, 
as in the "Mad Robot." (He lit a cigarette and 
handed one to her.) I don't buy your Amazing 
Stories or Fantastic Adventures to read about 
some one smoking cigarettes or drinking high balls 
and booze and why take up my reading time with 
this junk? I like good clean science fiction like 
"Intruders from the Stars." That was a master- 
piece, and others could be the same. It is not at 
all necessary for the hero to be a drunkard and 
tobacco fiend or the heroine either. Give us some 
more stories giving praise to God and don't allow 
stories that take the name of the Lord in vain in 
your magazines. Rule them out or tell authors 
to rewrite them without this bunk. Just cut out 
three things in these books that is, no tobacco, no 
booze and no swearing and you will have 100% 
stories. We're in a jam at present. Maybe our 
own fault. The nation that forgets God goes 
down. How about Babylon and Rome and quite 
a few others? This is my U.S.A. and it is time 
all of us do a bit more serving the Lord instead 
of the devil. 

Hoping to see these improvements in the next 
issue. 

Jos. G. Serene, 
Route 1, 
Apollo, Pa. 

You're right. We could use a little more of the 
godly things these days. As for those cigarettes, 
we'll tend to our editing knitting a bit more closely, 
and cut them out! Yours is a constructive 
thought and -.ve thank you for it. — Ed. 

A NICE LETTER TO GET 

Sirs: 

Congratulations on your January issue of A.S. 
I have read many different science- fiction mags, 
but this was the best one yet. Add my name to 
your already long (I suppose) list of admirers. 
I am somewhat of a scientist myself and I get a 
kick out of s-f stories, even though they are far- 
fetched. 

Ross Rocklynne certainly has what it takes. 
• Phantom City of Luna" was also a top bracket 
story. All the other stories were interesting, but 
I don't think "Master of the Living Dead" goes 
too well in this kind of a book. Covers were espe- 
cially good, too. 

The only thing wrong with the mag was the 


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fact that it came to and end (every word of it) 
too soon. 

Yours for more long stories like "Intruders 
from the Stars." 

J. Rohrrt Bridge, 
118 Irving Ave., 
Latrobe, Pa. 

Thanks much, Mr. Bridge. We'll luive many 
more long stories like. this. — -En. 

SEVERAL POINTS ARE RAISED 

Sirs : 

Because I have finally finished both recent is- 
sues of your magazines, I decided to cease re- 
straining the urge to sit down and relieve myself 
of several unwanted opinions. First of all, the 
battle on "Carbon-Copy Killer."' Maybe, as some 
character remarked, your magazine would go on 
the rocks if you failed to please two-thirds of the 
people, but losing one-third wouldn't do it any 
great amount of good either. Some people don't 
seem to realize that you've got to try to please 
everybody part of the time. I'm satisfied if I 
like 75% of the mag. For instance, and this will 
probably invite a bomb in the mail, I distinctly 
enjoyed C-C K, but I must admit that I did not 
consider "The New Adam" to be the best story 
ever published. It took me about two weeks to 
read each instalment, which is unusual to say the 
least, but I wouldn't object if another like it were 
published. I agree heartily with whoever it was 
that suggested a reprint of some of the older 
stories, because I am still in high-school, too, and 
haven't had a chance to read some of these 
classics. 

How about a sequel to "Empire of Jegga,'' 
maybe not in the sense of the same characters and 
all, but more or less what happened when Earth 
took its place among the rest of the planets as 
far as travel and commerce and so on were con- 
cerned? 

"Intruders from the Stars" struck me as the 
best this time with Costello's and Repp's yarns 
right behind. "Island of Eternal Storm'' was a 
good story, but it seems as though it might better 
have gone in FA. For that matter, "Professor 
Cyclone" should definitely have gone in AS, and 
Arno's and Erwin's stories, and maybe even 
Yerxa's could have followed it. 

I agree with the guy who said what he did 
about the ads and reader's pages. I've often 
skipped the reader's pages because of the fine 
print, but mainly because I have to follow them 
through the digestive tract, then through old 
coins, wonders of the mind, how-to-be-a-detec- 
tive-in-tcn-casy-lessons, and end up with a guy 
with asthma throwing trick dice. It's too much. 
Anvway, even if I would like to buy his stuff, 
I get so mad at seeing it instead of the end of 
a cute remark, that I wouldn't have it given to 
me. 

Oh, hy the way, where did the fantasy come in, 
in "Pearl-Handled Poison?" Maybe I'm dumb. 


AMAZING STORIES 


199 


On those covers. Why don't you stick the ad- 
vertising away instead of putting it in the middle 
of the picture that we might keep. If we see the 
title we will investigate to see what's inside, any- 
way, and I for one can't tell whether a story 
is good because so and so wrote it, or because of 
the name. 

Guy Trucano, 
Box 1004, 
Dickinson, N. Dak. 

We believe most of the readers -will agree with 
your conclusions cm variety. Perhaps Reed will 
write another Jegga story. That's up to him. 
But personally, we'd hate to have to try to equal 
the first story! Amazing Stories runs fiction 
whose nature is implied in Us title. Thus, we dis- 
agree with your thoughts on whether some of 
these stories belong in the magazine. All are. cer- 
tainly amazing. Isn't it better to run Discussions 
through the ad columns, rather than a story? We 
had been under the impression that our cover titles 
had been cut to an absolute minimum.— Ed. 

STORIES WORTH MENTIONING 

Sirs: 

I have been reading Amazing Stories for about 
a year now and in my estimation it is the best 
science fiction magazine on the stands. Once in 
a while other science fiction mags will run a good 
story, but I can always count on your mag to 
come through with the best there is. 

There are several stories worth mentioning that 
have appeared during the time I've been read- 
ing your magazine. ''Warrior of the Dawn" by 
Howard Browne was a superb story. A very 
Kood plot. The only trouble was that there 
wasn't much science connected with it, if any. 
"The New Adam" by Stanley G. Weinbaum and 
''Empire of Jegga" by David V. Reed will go 
down in my memory as all-time greats. "Empire 
of Jegga'' had a brilliant plot and superb art 
work. Let's have more stories by these same 
authors along the same lines; also more art 
work by Hadden. 

Other stories which deserve mention are: 

1. "Destroyer from the Past" by Polton Cross. 

2. "The Avengers" by William P. McGivern. 

3. "The World Beyond" by Ray Cummings. 

•1. ''The Return of Hawk Carse" by Anthony 

5. 'The Vengeance of Martin Brand" by G. H. 
Irwin. Good story but lousy ending. 

6. '-Blitz Against Japan" by Robert Moore Wil- 
liams. 

7. "After An Age" by Eando Binder. 

S. -Skeleton Men of Jupiter" by Edgar Rice 
Burroughs. 

Q. "That Worlds May Live" by Nelson S. Bond. 
10. "Dr. Varsag's Second Experiment" by Craig 
Ellis. 

Where oh where do you get such junk as 
"Phantom of the Film," "The Persian Carpet," 


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"Bring Back My Body," "Never Trust A Demon," 
"Jenny, the Flying Ford,'' "The Don Hargreaves 
Series," and so on? If I was a swearirV man 
your ears would sure burn. 

Your last issue was the best for some time. 
There weren't any outstanding stories but all the 
stories were good, especially "Intruders from the 
Stars" by Ross Rocklynne. The front and back 
cover paintings by Fuqua were TERRIFIC. LOTS 
more work by him, PLEASE! 

Thanks for enlarging the discussion section. 

Harvey A. Dyer 
13818 Davana Terrace 
Van Nuys, Calif. 

"Warrior Of The Dawn" was based on the sci- 
ence of Man, of the Cro-Magnon age, and was 
extremely accurate and entirely scientific. Don't 
be too disappointed by the ending of "Vengeance 
Of Martin Brand." Brand is by no means dead 
yet, and the second in this series (The Justice 
Of Martin Brand) will appear in these pages 
soon. — Ed. 


A BOOK OF CLASSICS? 

Sirs: 

I just finished reading Mr. Maddux's letter on 
Discussions. About the ads I agree with him 
100%. Instead of dividing the page why not 
put a couple of full pages of ads in the back? 
If your objection is that if all the ads are to- 
gether nobody will read them why not alternate 
a page of ads then some pages of Scientific 
Oddities or Scientific Mysteries? 

I agree with you on the matter of prizes. If 
you realty want to do something for your fans 
the thing to do is to have a hard covered book, 
with magazine paper with the shine, put out 
about every five years of all the stories raved 
about in the letters you receive. May 1 suggest 
for the first book "Empire of Jegga," "Intruders 
from the Stars" and "Test Tube Girl." 

What ever happened to the fellow who wrote 
"Test Tube Girl"? He's as good as Burroughs 
in my estimation. 

About the special book you could even include 
the best from Fantastic Adventures. 

John J. Edell 
199-07 100th Ave. 
Hallis, L. I„ N. Y. 

Wouldn't your suggestion re the ads be. about 
the same as at present, except that full pages of 
ads would enlarge the gaps? This way, Discussions 
runs concurrently, without a lot of "continued on 
page so-and-so." Your idea about a book con- 
taining our best stories is being filed in our minds 
for better times. Patton is still writing. We've 
run several of kis stories since "Test Tube Girl." 
More are coming.— Ed. 


AMAZING STORIES 


201 


HE'S NO KISSING BUG 

Sirs : 

I have before me the January '44 issue of 
Amazing Stories, and would !ike to pass out 
some orchids and onions concerning said mag. 

Firstly, give orchids to one of your best artists, 
Robert Fuqua, who drew the two great covers 
that decorated this issue. 

The second bunch of orchids goes to the much 
improved Discussions. It was longer, therefore 
very good. I agree with Lee Wright, Chad Oli- 
ver, and the rest that weren't too fond of Mr. 
TerriH's letter. 

I could go on handing out orchids on a lot 
of minor details, but I do not wish to take up 
too much space here, so I will go directly to the 
stories. 

I use the reliable 1-10 method, but for all 
stories that rate below 1, I hand out nice, round, 
smcliy, onions! 

1. "The Mad Robots" (Nice going) 7.9. 

2. ''Intruders from the Stars" (Very good, well 
handled. Would be rated higher if it didn't 
resemble Weihbaum's works so closely) 9.0. 

3. '-Phantom City of Luna" (No comment) 6.2. 

4. "Master of the Living Dead" (Not scien- 
tilkally sound) 4.9. 

5. "Island of Eternal Storm" (Neat) 6.6. 

6. ''The Needle Points to Death" 8.0. 

Oh, yes! Did you hear of the new love maga- 
zine called Amazing Stories? Don't worry, I'm 
not going mad, yet, but I think you will agree 
with me. Every story with the exception of the 
last ends in a love scene. Gadsl Quote, from 
first story: '•She raised herself on tip-toes, and 
kissed him gently on the lips." (My, how touch- 
ing.) Quote, from second story : "Those two 
stood locked in embrace," etc. Quote from third 
story : "She found her lips occupied with other 
mailers." Quote from fourth story : "We're go- 
ing to take up from where we left off the other 
day." (Guess what they were doing the other 
day?) Quote from fifth: (This is stirring) "Then 
he kissed her." BOSH ! 

I think you would have greatly improved your 
last issue, if you would have separated the two 
main novels with two shorts. 

Austin Jay Hamel 
2090 East Tremont Ave. 
New York 62, N. Y. 

Your editor kinda likes the idea of kissing girls 
as lovely us the heroines of the stories. So he 
can't see why not have the hero kiss them? Is 
he a fish? Thanks for your ratings. We like to 
know things like that, although we don't clutter 
up Discussions with very many of them. Write 
us again.— Ed. 

DON'T MENTION OLD CLASSICS ! 

Sirs: 

I suppose I should say the usual things like 
I have read your mag for the past 5 or 6 years, 
and that I like it a lot, but I'm not, for you 
already know that or I wouldn't take the trouble 


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to write you. But really I have read your mag 
ever since I can remember reading. I have always 
enjoyed science-fiction. And I don't care whether 
one story has a bit of a detective touch to il, 
a fantastic touch to it, or a plain old blood and 
thunder novel, I like 'em all. I'm not like those 
that write in and say they thought it was terrible 
because so-and-so was not just right to their tasles 
(Such as "Carbon-Copy Killer"). 

I do have a few mild brickbats to throw, 
though. One is the corny type of story in which 
the author has one thing of interest, such as a 
rattle-trap car, a lovable old man (preferably 
one whose name has the same initials such as 
"Horace Higginbottom," or "The Quandry of 
Quandras Quadaple" or something like that. Mean- 
while the plot is exactly nothing. 

I am in favor of trimmed edges, but if every- 
one is against them, I won't say anything on that 
subject. 

Another brickbat. I don't like those guys what 
write in and say, quote, "Of all these, though, I 
liked 'The Black Flame' or some other classic 
of an age in which I just didn't happen to be 
born in time to read. It makes my mouth water 
and my mind hurt to think of missing ait those 
good stories. The farthest back novel that I can 
remember is something like "After the Deluge." 

I like all Burroughs stories, and may he write 
many more after this war. And I did, did, did 
like Browne's "Warrior of the Dawn." A big 
sequel, please, Mr. Browne! Another bright spot 
in your magazine was "Bill Cauldron Goes to the 
Future." 

In your January issue which I am just read- 
ing, your stories were o. k. Fuqua's all right on 
gadgets but not so hot on humans. I like "In- 
truders from the Stars," best. Keep up your 
good work. 

Robert Proctor 
Route No. 6 ; 
Clarksville. Texas 

// you remember "After The Deluge," you 
haven't missed a great many stories! Browne is 
at work on the second oj his caveman novels. 

— Ed. 

REPRINTS IN PAMPHLET FORM? 

Sirs : 

I'm afraid I'm not very good when it comes to 
writing letters and even worse when I'm trying 
to make a suggestion. 

Every once in a while my scoffing friends in- 
vade my living room to see me painstakingly 
copying down word for word the stories in Amaz- 
ing Stories and Fantastic Adventures which I 
consider classics. These typewritten sheets are 
carefully stapled and kept within easy reach. As 
I have no room in my small apartment to store 
my magazines, I simply keep those stories I like 
best, and give the magazine away. 

When paper shortages are a thing of the past, 
why don't you publish, of your own accord, the 
most wanted stories in small pamphlets or pocket- 


AMAZING 

books? I know that some of your stories have 
been printed in book form, but it has been 
impossible to acquire a single one. You could 
make a fortune by offering your readers these 
pamphlets directly through you. They could be 
about five or six inches square, stapled twice 
down the middle page, and the outside cover 
could be of heavier paper— a comparatively in- 
expensive procedure. The request of your readers 
would determine the stories and number of issues. 

First on my prefercd list include, "The Ice 
Queen,'' "After An Age," "The New Adam," 
"Tiger Girl," "That World's May Live," "War- 
rior of the Dawn," and from Fantastic Adventures 
"Witch of Blackfen Moor." 

Why don't you see what your readers have to 
say for or against this post-war suggestion? 

Mrs. A. Burch 
Tarrytown, N. Y. 

Strangely enoitgh, your editors have, beftt think- 
ing of just suck a procedure, except possibly just 
a bit more ambitious (in the pocket-book form). 
Perhaps after the war we will do many thing 
along these lines.— Ed. 

PERSISTENCE DESERVES 
PUBLICATION! 

Sirs : 

It's so nice these war lorn days to escape via 
magazines to a nice quiet death ray battle on 
Mars or go with Lena Wartelsnitlcr while she 
tracks down a helpless male jumping from ring 
to ring of Saturn. 

Good old "Discussions" slill goes on with bricks 
from you and bouquets from me. Wouldn't it 
be fun if the readers sent the readers bouquets 
or bricks for their letters while they are sending 
same for our dear editor — long suffering mortal! 

You're wondering maybe whether I liked your 
stories! Don't 1 always! Well not always. 

"Intruders From the Stars" by Ross Rocklynne 
was super. Don't you just love those raven- 
haired sleeping beauties? 

"The Mad Robot" by William P. McGivern 
was quite interesting. But I didn't think part of 
a living brain could be used in robots. Can't 
huh? 

Hope this letter gets printed for once. My 
other two or three must have met a fate worse 
than death, 'cause I did put black lines on paper 
and sent 'em in. Yep, I used all my skill on a 
mere letter and no one ever printed them, 

S. Shaver's letter on the Ancient Language was 
extremely interesting to me. I'm afraid I'm not 
quite clear on the whole matter, but I certainly 
would like to be. 

The "O 1 ' for orifice, even is shaped like an open 
mouth isn't it? If you had wanted to write, 
"you talk!" Would you put the symbols, L 1 0? 

What happened to Ksperanto? 

Will be giad to answer any letters that should 
wander my way. 

If anyone has any old mags for sale kindly le! 


STORIES 203 



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204 


AMAZING STORIES 


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me know. The older they are the better. I 
don't mean torri-to-bit-ones mind you, just old 
dated ones. Till next time. 

Vida Claire Schneider 
77 Chester Place 
Yonkers, N. V. 

We certainly don't mean to ignore you, or any 
reader who writes, Vida, but we get. an awful lot 
of letters we don't print. We haven't the space— 
and it mould amount to the "whole magazine! But 
you deserve a break, so here you are — and keep 
on writing! Shaver has written us again, enlarg- 
ing on his language, and we'll give you more de- 
tails next issue. He has stirred up a lot oj interest, 
and perhaps something will come of it all. Es- 
peranto is still going strong, but the war has just 
robbed it of publicity. However, after the war, 
we believe languages understood all over the world 
will be a vital subject for thought —Eu. 

LIKES THE LONG ONES 

Sirs : 

Although I have been a reader of your mag 
for some time this is the first time I have ever 
written in to any mag. Your mag is tops in the 
science-fiction field. Discussions and the other 
departments arc great. How about more serials, 
fewer short stories, and more novels? Stories like 
''The Xew Adam," "The Hollow Planet," "Earth 
Stealers," although not common, make your mag- 
azine much more interesting. 

M. D. Thatcher 
27 Sherman Ave, 
East Newark, N. J. 

We have plenty of novels and serials on hand, 
but serials will luive to wait until we resume 
monthly publication. — Ei). 

A BRAND NEW READER 

Sirs: 

I have just read my first copy Amazing Stories, 
and (if it will make you feel better) you can add 
my name to the long (presumably) list of fans. 
1 am taking science in school, and I'm not inter- 
ested very much in it. But 1 wouldn't mind if 
textbooks were written like Fantastic and Amaz- 
ing magazines, 

The book I just read was January 1044 issue. 
"The Mad Robot" and '"Phantom City of Luna" 
were tops! 

T for terrific 

0 for oh ! so good 

P for perfect 

S for superb 

Main Criticism'. ''Master of the Living Dead" 
was dead material. A mad scientist with a big 
idiot for an assistant, kidnaps a pretty girl, hero 
intervenes just in time, saves her, scientist at- 
tempts to kill assistant, who comes back and lives 
thru numerous wounds, kills said scientist, and 
falls dead. That's the plot of nearly every mad 
scientist movie. 


AMAZING STORIES 


205 


FREE OFFER 

for FALSE TEETH 


In an answer to a letter, you said there were 
no good solutions to "The Perfect Trap." Why 
not have another one? And maybe a couple of 
whodunits? I think the book would be improved 
if a few comic stories were inserted. "Intruders 
from the Stars" could stand a sequel. How about 
it? 

G. Dallas 
Cleveland, Ohio 


We wouldn't 
you asked for, 


' surprised if you got everything 
sntuallyl —Ed. 


NUTS TO THE CRITICS! 

Sirs: 

What a mess! what a mess!! Now don't get 
me wrong, I don't mean your mass. A.S. and 
F.A. T mean those people (?) who write and 
advise VOL' to improve your mags, and to shoot 
one author and to strangle another. Personally 
I can't find any improvement necessary. What 
do they expect you to do ? I suppose make 
the mags, specifically for them and let the rest 
of us go to Hades, or something stronger? True 
I've seen some stories that didn't come up to 
par in mv estimation, but I'm not complaining, 
look at ali the good stories you've given us. There 
is an example of what I mean. Maybe the stories 


I thought 


it 


to 


to 


else the best stories. Ohhhh welllll 1 ! I 

Now about trimmed edges. 1 suppose they 
are O. K. but what's the use? Who cares about 
them? Does it improve the enjoyment and stories 
any? Next someone will want golden bookends 
with the mags, and then they will have some- 
thing else to gripe about, the extra cost. Well 
I suppose they have the right to gripe and com- 
plain, for this the good old U. S. A. 

Now, here is what I think of your mags, since 
I have that off my chest. There is only one thing 
wrong with them, once I get started I got to 
use a lot of willpower to stop reading. In my 
estimation they are superb!!! Terrific!!! Well 
they're swell anyway. I haven't missed an issue 
since Vol, 17 No. .5 (March 10-43 J of Amazing 
Stories and Vol. 5 No. 3 (March 104.3) of Fan- 
tastic Adventures. 

Your staff of authors and artists has my com- 
pliments for a superb job. Keep 'em good ! ! 1 
Keep 'em coming. 

Alvin M, C. Swektman, Age 16 
R. F. D. No- 1 
Midland, Michigan 

Tsk, tsk. Such enthusiasm. — Ed. 

HE STANDS ALONE 

Sirs: 

Upon removing the envelope from this letter 
you will find a neatly wrapped and prepared 
brickbat ; the first one off the assembly-line. 
Frankly, I have been reading Amazing Stories 
and Fantastic Adventures since the year one, and 
this is the first edition that I have come across 
which doesn't come up to par. First of all: one 
realizes that poor material published is not the 
fault of the editor. We all realize that most 



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of your best men have gone to war. But my 
chief gripe is that one of the usually fine authors 
has gone on the rocks. ''Intruders from the 
Stars" by Ross Rocklynne is not so good. Rather 
crudely written, unconvincing, and reads as if 
it was shortened from a much longer draft. 

Next on the list: "Master of the Living Dead," 
by Ed Earl Repp. This would have been all 
right, but somehow the story leaves a bad taste 
in the mouth; there's something a little disgusting 
about the plot. 

"The Mad Robot" by William P. McGivem is 
about the best in the January issue. This author 
is always pood, this story was pleasant and inter- 
esting. But one thing: It was kinda obvious 
that Ho Agar would turn oul to be responsible 
for the trouble. 

"Island Of Eternal Storm" by Berkeley Living- 
ston. Nice plot, no crude description, well writ- 
ten; that idea of life and death reversed is some- 
thing to think about. 

"Phantom City of Luna" by Costello. I think 
everyone likes time travel stories. 

"The Needle Points To Death" by Gerald 
Vance. The plot was so-so, but amazingly well 
written, and showed great promise. 

In spite of the knocks dealt out the magazine 
is still a buy lor a quarter. The covers are years 
ahead of any other publication, fine drawing and 
colors. What about getting some of Hans Bok's 
art? He's good. 

PniLip K. Dick 
1411 Arch St. 
Berkeley, Calif. 
You are actually the only reader who did not 
rave about Rocklymz's yam. Mom of Williams 
is coming up. New artists, if good, are always 
welcome. — Ed. 

A RAVE FOR REED 

Sirs: 

I purchased the November issue of Amazing 
Stories at 7:00 last evening, and at 2:00 in the 
morning I had read every word of fiction it con- 
tained. Usually it takes me from two days to a 
week to finish a magazine. In a magazine such 
as Amazing, publishing a long novel and some 
shorts and novelettes, I generally read most of 
the shorter yarns in one day and spend the next 
two or three days reading the novel. But not 
thia time! After finishing the shorter tales, 1 
started in on the book-length, intending to read 
a few pages and then lay the book down and go 
to bed. But once 1 got started on that story 
I couldn't stop; I read it right through at one 
sitting. And for a 90.000 word story that's some- 
thing! "Empire of Jegga" was all I had hoped 
it might be. Reed is a worthy rival of Don Wil- 
cox. Let's have a lot more "Super Novels" from 
his enchanted pen ! 

William J. James 
10026 Aurora Ave. 
Detroit, Mich. 
There seems to have been no doubt m the 
readers' minds that Reed has written a classic. We 
were proud to publish the story.— Ed. 


AMAZING STORIES 


207 


SCIENTIFIC MYSTERIES 

(Continued from page 188) 


taken up their life in refiiRe-locations, and who 
show strong Dragon culture, also have two other 
traits in common, both of which have significance. 
All of them display an ancient child-sacrificing 
ritual to a Veiled god who controlled the breath 
passages of the body. Tn all these cases, breath 
is thought of as the soul, and some cloth or in- 
strument was anciently worn lo protect it. Thus 
the curious nose-guard 10 ceremonial decorations 
or masks used in these ritualistic dances to the 
Veiled-One. And secondly, all of these peoples 
have a strange legend about a race of warrior- 
women who were "Wives of the Serpent" or 
they have a legend about the revolt of their 
women who became enamored of a water-ser- 
pent, but who finally returned to them. These 
legends of the women extend all the way into 
South America, but they are apparently cen- 
tered in the Antilles. It was the strength of 
1 he story that women warriors with metal heads 
and metal swords once invaded South America 
from the Atlantic, that caused the exploring 
Spanish to name the main river of Brazil, The 
Amazon. Ts it possible that the women whom 
legend says that the Lybian monarch Herakles 
defeated in battle — the Amazons, did actually 
cross the Atlantic, and with their metal helmets 
and bronze swords, carve out a new empire for 
themselves in the jungles of the Matto Grosso? 

As for the Veiled-One, who is always con- 
nected with some form of child-sacrifice, (or 
the relic of some ritual which was once obviously 
such a sacrifice), is this god to be identified with 
the wind-god of the Toltecs — the humane Quet- 
zalcoatl, even though his face was sometimes 
supposed to have been veiled ? Positively not, 
AH Aztec literature states conclusively that Quet- 
zalcoatl was opposed to any type of human 
sacrifice. True, he held baptismal ceremonies 
for children, but again we read into this the 
reaction to the ceremonies of the preceding re- 
ligion. Thus again, we must suppose that even 
his designation as the wind-god, was the stolen 
mantle of a former and more terrible deity. 

However, these two cultural clues have given 
us something which our study of the Uto-Aztecan 
family of languages failed to disclose. We can 
trace these cultural clues to a center, from which 
untold milleniums ago, they were dispersed to 
the peoples who are now isolated island-fashion 
upon mouniain ranges and inhospitable deserts. 
This center is not the Alaskan coast, as one 
might be led to susjx'd by the power of the 
Totem in Asi3, but it is the Caribbean Sea and 
the volcanic Antilles which curve out into that 
(Concluded on page 209) 

^'Apache. Devil-Dance, Keresuin ritual to the 
Veiled-One', nose-sticks worn by Itzaes on Ancient 
Mayan temple-paintings, etc. 


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CITY STATE. . 


SHIP OF CALLISTO 

By MORRIS J. STEELE 

Our back cover carries James B. Settles' exotic concept of the 
oar-propelled galley of this satellite of the planet Jupiter 


CALLISTO is the fourth of the satellites of 
Jupiter discovered by Galileo, and is the 
most distant from its parent body of the 
four. It has been estimated by astronomers that 
it is only 0.6 as dense as water (Earth is 5.51 as 
dense as water). Therefore, we are confronted 
with a worid which is certainly nothing like ours. 
Certainly it has no metal core, nor any heavy rock 
Formations. Rather it would be a world of very 
light metals and rock and its oceans would be 
very small. 

Callisto is slightly larger than the planet Mer- 
cury, and although it does not now possess an 
atmosphere, it seems logical that in its youth it 
had one perfectly capable of supporting life. It 
is concerning this period in its history that this 
concept of the possible sea-going means of loco- 
motion by artist Settles has dealt. 

The satellite is 1,168,700 miles from the center 
of Jupiter. Us period of revolution is 16 days, 
16 hours, 32.2 seconds. Its diameter is 3,220 miles. 
The Danish astronomer, O. RiSmer used it, along 
with its three companions, to determine the speed 
of light. 

Markings can be seen on the surface of Callisto 
which indicate that it is not gaseous, but possesses 
land areas, and possible mountainous regions, in 
addition to seas. 

Artist Settles has pictured one of these seas as 
a limpid ocean of unearthiy-looking water, con- 
tained in a basin surrounded by high cliffs of 
bauxite ore (aluminum). Much of the color of 
the water is probably caused by this ore, which 
has a distinct blue color. 

Because of the density (or lack of density) of 
the atmosphere, there is little if any wind, and 
the sea is perpetually unruffled; even oily in ap- 
pearance, although this is not the case. The water 
is ordinary HsO. 

Since the satellite has no winds, its peoples 
would be forced by that circumstance (coupled 
with the fact that they would have little oppor- 
tunity to develop the science of mechanics to the 
point of combustion engines) to invent a type of 
ship propelled by something as primitive as oars. 

However, let us picture the ship itself before 
we undertake to describe its propelling power. 
Here we have a very shallow draft ship shaped 
much like the ancient galley of Roman times 
on Earth. However, a portion of it is enclosed, 
largely the stern, giving it a startling similarity 
to the ships of the type Columbus used to cross 
the Atlantic. 

Forward a lookout (or bridge) would be con- 


structed for observation, surmounted by a mast 
used only to carry a pennant or identification 
banner. 

The keel and ribs of the ship would be fashioned 
of the very rare wood found on the planet (since 
trees grow only in very limited areas on this 
world of little density). Over this framework 
would be fastened large planks of a very light, 
thick, and tough bark (like cork) which would 
be obtained from underwater "trees" related to 
the giant seaweed family. 

This cork-wood construction would make the 
ship extremely light and buoyant, and would lend 
itself extremely well to the propulsion of the ship 
by oars. No great banks of oars would be needed, 
as in the galley of Earth, but perhaps only two 
large sweeps on each side of the ship. 

These sweeps would be attached by crossbars 
to several vertical timbers which could be lifted 
after a sweep forward, thus allowing the paddles 
of the oar to swing forward by gravity and dip 
again into the water in advance of their former 
position. The timbers would descend once more, 
and be pressed forward, causing the paddles to 
sweep backward once more. 

The motive power would be manual, provided 
by slaves who would pull on ropes in turn ; first 
for the lilting of the oars, then for the thrust 
when dipped into the water. These slaves would 
be below decks. 

Beyond the shallow-draft keel, these strips 
would be rudderless, and steered entirely by the 
oars, which could be "feathered" on either side to 
either cut the water or bite into it. 

Living quarters would be aft, and would house 
approximately fifty passengers. A crew of fifty 
would make the capacity of the whole ship about 
one hundred persons. 

The crew would remain below, and the officers 
of the ship would inhabit the "bridge." 

The ship would be approximately one hundred 
and twenty feet long, and its beam would be 
about forty-two feet. Its overall height would be 
fifty-eight feet. 

It would have a speed of approximately twelve 
miles per hour, and would skim over the waves 
with quite an amazing agility. 

The pennant of identification would reveal its 
port of embarkation, its destination, and other in- 
formation easily read from a distance on the 
length of the pennant, which would be as much 
as forty feet. This pennant would stream out 
aloft as the ship moved forward at its twelve-mile 
speed. 


208 


AMAZING STORIES 


209 


SCIENTIFIC MYSTERIES 

(Concluded from page 207) 


ocean like the sunken mountain chain of a long- 
lost land ! 

If this is the point then, from which the 
ancient colossus of the seas, the dreaded Great 
Dragon, entered to stamp itself upon the legends 
and the rituals of the Americas, there must be 
other clues- legends and names which may help 
us to reconstruct the history of that world- 
power which cast its reptilian shadow across 
the entire earth prior to what we now call his- 
tory. 

REFERENCES 

Ximenez, Francisco. Las Historjas del origen de 
las Indies de Guatemala (out of print). 

T. A. Joyce. South American Archaeology. 

E. G. Squicr. Ethnology and Archaeology of 
Nicaragua ; also same, Collection of Rare and 
Orig. Documents upon Relations Concerning the 
Discovering and Conquest of A. (Pub. in N. Y., 
1960. Squier is out 0} print and difficult to ob- 
tain except in old book shops.) 

Lewis Spencc. The Popul Vuh. Pub. in Lon- 
don, 10OS. 

The Book of Chilam Balam of Chumayel (an 
ancient Indian book which survived the flames 
similarly to Popul Vuh). Published by U. of 
Pcnn. Anthropological Publications of the Uni- 
versity Museum. Part Five. 1913. 


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Hat grew under water, it was propelled by manual power alone. (See page jHJfj